


The Night Before Christmas

by MissSuzeH



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSuzeH/pseuds/MissSuzeH
Summary: Head of Gryffindor House, Hermione Granger remains at Hogwarts for the the Christmas Holidays with a handful of pupils, piece of cake she tells Headmistress Minerva McGonagall...is it?A few slight post epilogue changes.Three warnings...Spoilers for the Cursed Child, Lumione Fic and Adult content in later chapter..You have been warned about all three...ENJOY..





	1. First Christmases

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally due to be posted for Christmas but I got a little sidetracked and also it became more than just a one/two shot, there will be six chapters in total.
> 
> As in the summary, there are some Cursed Child Spoilers in here, but no secrets given away. There are also a couple of little changes to the epilogue, which I hope you will forgive and enjoy.
> 
> As always with my fics PLEASE forgive any errors, whatever form they might take, reviews always welcome. And I hope you enjoy

 

"Are you  _sure_ you don't mind Hermione? I feel it's an awful cheek, especially just for a half a dozen or so students."

"Of course not Minerva, how many more times, it's not a problem. I had nothing planned over the holidays, you go and see your niece, she needs you."

Hermione patted the older woman affectionately on the arm.

"But…"

Hermione cut her former head of house and now Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, firmly off.

"No more arguments Minerva, its just nine days. I am sure I can cope with seven pupils on my own for that long." A neatly plucked brow rose and she gave the headmistress a warm smile.

Minerva McGonagall viewed her one-time pupil, who was now Head of Gryffindor House, and Professor Of Muggle studies, from beneath her aged black hat, pushing her wire rimmed spectacles back up her sharp nose. She had no doubt whatsoever in the younger woman's ability to look after the students remaining at the school for the Christmas holiday, but she felt very guilty that she was asking her to give up whatever festive plans she might have had, to do so.

Hermione sensed the wily Scot's unease but knew very well it was guilt based more than anything else, and she wasn't having any of it.

Molly Weasley had of course invited her former daughter in law to lunch at the burrow along with the rest of the family, but as Ronald had recently become engaged, she didn't feel right about going. A point she had emphasised to Minerva McGonagall several times already and reiterated now.

"Minerva, I told you it's the perfect excuse for me to get out of lunch with the Weasley's. Molly will only let me off and forgive me if it's work related."

Her voice implored the sympathy of the older witch, who was shaking her head, but grudgingly accepting her words.

"Anyway it's a handful of Hufflepuffs and 2 Ravenclaws, not exactly taxing. I can catch up on some reading and enjoy the peace and quiet myself."

She saw Minerva McGonagall's thin brows knit together and waited for the inevitable.

"Hmm maybe not."

Her Scottish brogue was quiet, and just a tad menacing, it was a look and a tenor Hermione had seen and heard many times as a pupil.

"But there is also a Slytherin, A Malfoy at that, whose Grandfather, as you well know is once again on the board of school governors."

The disapproval was more than evident in the headmistress's tone of voice, but also in her wrinkled nose, and those very knitted brows.

Hermione really didn't want to argue with her superior, or her friend come to that, well on one point she couldn't, Lucius Malfoy was indeed once more on the Hogwarts board of School governors. She however doubted his grandson Scorpius would be any trouble at all, in fact she felt sure she would hardly know he was there.

Unlike his father, and quite possibly his grandfather before him, Scorpius Malfoy was a studious, well behaved boy, who took his lessons, whatever they were and whomever the Professor was, very seriously. He had no airs and graces about him and was very close to Harry's son Albus, the pair of them always taking an active part in the classroom, or at least they had until Scorpius' mother had died during the summer holidays. On his return to school in the September, the young Malfoy boy had been understandably much quieter and withdrawn, his participation in class almost non-existent. Of course he was grieving for his mother, and Christmas was always going to be tough on the young Malfoy, but to find himself left alone at school, Hermione found that unforgivable, seething silently about her old school nemesis and haughty disdainful father. Yes Draco Malfoy had lost his wife, but he of all people should also understand how his son was feeling, having lost his own mother Narcissa a couple of years or so earlier.

Hermione brought her thoughts back to Minerva McGonagall, and her comments about Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes I know, Harry was telling me he has also found some grace and favour at the ministry too, helping fund some new projects and departments."

The look on the headmistress's face and the little harrumph that accompanied it, told Hermione she was far from impressed, but it diverted her from the subject of Hermione remaining at Hogwarts over Christmas, so she didn't comment.

Minerva McGonagall asked Hermione a couple more times, if she was sure she didn't mind staying at Hogwarts, before she finally flued from the ancient old Castle, but not before assuring her young friend and colleague that she was only an owl and an apparation away.

The last time Hermione had spent the Christmas holiday's at Hogwarts had been during her third year, when the place had been crawling with the hideous Dementors of Azkaban looking for Sirius Black. Since she had returned as a teacher, she had never stayed, always spending the holidays with her ex husband and his family at the Burrow. It was rather strange being here as adult, the person in charge. She smiled to herself as she walked through the quiet empty corridors.

"Good evening Hermione, lovely to have you here for Christmas."

Nearly Headless Nick drifted passed her as she left the Gryffindor Common Room and made her way to check on the other inhabitants.

"Good evening Sir Nicholas, it's always good to have you for company." She offered the ghost a cheeky grin, he bowed politely before vanishing into the walls.

Her grin grew a little larger as she recalled her first encounter with the silvery spirit back in her first year. When she made the mistake of asking him how he could be "nearly headless", she chuckled aloud as she continued to make her way to the Hufflepuff basement.

Descending the grand staircase towards the kitchen area and the common room, Hermione decided to grab herself a cup of tea before checking on the four Hufflepuffs who had remained at school. She hated their common room, despite it actually being quite possibly the cosiest of the four. Like anyone else entering it or any of the other house common rooms, you needed a password. Passwords she could remember easily, the nook on the right-hand side of the kitchen corridor demanded slightly more than the usual spoken watchword, you had to tap the barrel second from the bottom rhythmically. For all of Hermione Granger's academic qualities, she had never had much of a musical ear, the idea of being doused in vinegar for her lack of musicality, was not a pleasant thought for the young witch.

Reaching midway down the long central staircase, she paused to admire the giant Christmas tree, carefully felled, erected and fondly decorated under the watchful supervision of an aging Hagrid. Even the lovingly gentle giant was conspicuous by his absence this year, had taken his half-brother Grawp off to visit some long lost relative somewhere or another. The tree looked even more spectacular and beautiful this year, the scent of it large pine needles filling the air along with the sound of the self-tinkling bells, which made this Christmas Eve feel even more festive, odd considering the circumstances.

Glancing towards its foot and the array of brightly wrapped parcels scattered beneath its boughs, she saw the familiar blonde head of Scorpius Malfoy dash across the main entrance hall, he'd obviously been outside, his cloak covered in large flakes of the snow which was still falling heavily. He too seemed to be headed towards the kitchen, checking on him now as she made her tea, would save her a trip to the Slytherin common room, the Dungeons were about as joyful as the prospect of being drenched in vinegar.

Despite the vast amount of people they had to cater for, staff and students alike, the kitchen at Hogwarts was surprisingly small, thanks to extension charms, house elves and of course the wonders of magic. There was no array of modern gadgets or technology, even the one of only two kettles was copper, it boiled happily on the stove and whistled when ready. Hermione had always loved the kitchen here, in many ways, despite being a tad bigger, it reminded her of the one at home, where she had often sat watching her mother prepare meals and bake. The kitchen here at Hogwarts had an enormous walk in stone fireplace, to one side of it was an alcove, which boasted an equally large circular window, the window looked out over the grounds, and gave on of the best views of the Castle. There were two rickety old rocking chairs on either side of the window, and Hermione knew that Minerva McGonagall and the late Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had liked to sit here with a hot chocolate on a cold winters evening and pass away the time. It had only been a rumour when she'd been a pupil here, but she and Minerva had shared many a cup of tea and a shortbread in this very spot and the Headmistress had reflectively confirmed the story, with a wry smile and twinkle in her eyes. It was in the very same spot that Hermione Granger now found, Scorpius Malfoy, hunched in one of those rickety old chairs, his cheeks red from the cold, his greyish green eyes equally as red from tears.

Despite having no children of her own, which was the main reason why she and Ronald had divorced, Hermione was a natural with them, that was one of the reasons why she had taken to teaching, which in turn was the second reason she and Ronald had ended their marriage. She viewed the sad, lonely young man who now gazed out over the snow-covered lawns, the whomping willow looking like a Christmas card itself, reflecting his sadness and isolation. She didn't want to intrude on his grief, but her heart ached for him. All be it in a very different way Hermione knew what it was like to lose your mother.

The kitchen was one of the places where Hermione didn't like to use magic, she enjoyed putting the kettle on, or boiling some hot milk, whilst either was happening, she would get out the mugs or cups. Not wanting to disturb Scorpius, in this instance she made an exception, using a little wandless magic to conjure up a piping hot chocolate complete with marshmallows and a cup of tea. The tea came obediently to her, as the chocolate drifted across the room, stopping in front of Draco's son. He lifted his red rimmed eyes to the steaming mug, before glancing uncertainly in Hermione's direction.

"I'm sorry Professor I know students aren't supposed to be in the kitchen…"

Hermione waved her free hand dismissively.

"I won't tell the Headmistress Scorpius if you let me join you." She gestured the chair opposite with her cup.

The young boy nervously acquiesced, nodding his blonde head. He was the image of his father, albeit without the higher than mighty attitude, everything about him was pure Malfoy, but there was a soft fragility about him, which Hermione assumed he must have inherited from his mother.

"I see it's still snowing outside."

Hermione didn't look out of the window, instead she cast her brown eyes at the flakes which were slowly melting on his dark cloak.

"You should take it off, it will be damp, and you'll catch cold."

Scorpius did as she suggested without argument, shrugging out of his heavy wet cloak and draping it over the arm of the chair.

"Thank you, Professor." He said quietly sipping on his chocolate for the first time, the frothy drink and mallows coating his upper lip with a white moustache.

She winked at him, pointing to his sticky lip, which he quickly wiped with the back of his hand. A weak smile curved his mouth, it didn't reach his eyes which were still red and painfully sad. Hermione had an overwhelming urge to reach out and hug him but thought better of it. This wasn't Albus, whom she still thought of as her nephew and whom she had comforted many times. Scorpius might not have a lot of his character in common with his father or his grandfather for that matter, but he was still a Malfoy.

"My mother always made me hot chocolate when it was snowing." She offered gently.

She had assumed that it was missing his mother which had upset him so much, but whilst he looked reflectively at the drink in his hand, his eyes glistening, something told her that wasn't entirely it.

"My mother used to sprinkle chocolate on the marshmallows too." Scorpius responded quietly.

"I shall remember that for next time." She said.

This time the weak smile, just about reached his eyes, gratitude also flashing back at her.

"I love sitting here and looking out of the window, it's pretty and so quiet. I don't think we've had quite so much snow in a long time though." Hermione said conversationally, hoping to draw the younger man out, it seemed to work.

"There is a rumour that the Headmistress and Professor Dumbledore used to sit here."

Hermione looked at him over the rim of her own cup.

"Well if I promise not to tell Professor McGonagall that you were in here, then you have to keep a secret for me."

Scorpius nodded, the softness she saw in his face must definitely come from his mother, it was the only time he didn't look like Draco.

"Of course Professor."

"That rumour, it's true. Professor McGonagall told me herself."

A little spark of joy seemed to flash in his face, perhaps at the conspiracy she had incited, but somehow it seemed he enjoyed the little bit of Hogwarts folklore.

"As I am sure you know, Professor Dumbledore was Headmaster in mine and your father's time here."

She was careful what she said to Scorpius, it stood to reason he would know who Headmaster during his father's tenure as a pupil was, but she did not know just how much family history he was party to. His grandfather having had the former Headmaster removed from his post during her second term, and his father having been charged by Lord Voldemort during her sixth, to kill him.

"I love the thought of them sitting here, chatting, moaning about the students and the staff I bet, whilst sharing a cup of something and a biscuit or two."

Again she saw that little flicker of joy in Scorpius sad face.

"I thought Professor McGonagall was going to be here over Christmas, not you."

The young Malfoy's free hand came up to mouth in horror.

"I'm sorry." He said again. "That sounded very rude, I didn't mean… it wasn't meant to come out like that."

Oh he certainly got his manner from his mother's side thought Hermione, she could never imagine Draco or Lucius Malfoy apologising for anything. She didn't want to explain, why the Headmistress wasn't here or why she was for that matter, so she slipped a little humour into her gentle chiding response instead.

"I don't think Professor McGonagall puts marshmallows on her hot chocolate, so you are lucky it's me."

Scorpius was momentarily distracted by her reply, a genuine grin lifting his milky lips, but it vanished along with his forthright question, a question which caught Hermione completely off guard.

"Didn't your family want you either?"

Hermione couldn't for a moment take offence at his words because they were simply so unhappy and so genuinely heartfelt. Her own throat constricted, as tears pricked her eyes, how in Merlin's name did she respond to that? Perhaps with the same straightforward honesty as the question had been posed. The ethics of the conversation was a little questionable, but if nothing else, Hermione felt that Scorpius Malfoy deserved someone being open with him.

"I don't have any family of my own Scorpius."

She met his grey gaze head on, she could see in it that he had suddenly realised what he had said, asked, but unlike before he didn't apologise, he was interested and seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to. She could also see the question hovering on his lips, again she didn't want to go into too much detail, it had nothing to do with Scorpius' lineage, but he was after all a pupil and she had to maintain some boundaries.

"I lost my parents many years ago now, just before the second wizarding war." She didn't lie to Draco's son, she was just a little  _inaccurate_  with the details.

The young boy took in everything she was saying, his eyes clouding with more sadness, he took another sip of the drink Hermione had made him, as if it were a Firewhiskey giving him courage to speak.

"I am sad about my mother dying, I miss her so much, but I knew she was sick. She told me." His voice cracked a little.

"She told me that she was going to die, but now nobody wants me."

His eyes fell to the floor, Hermione could see tears glistening on his cheeks, she chewed the inside of her lip, swallowing hard. How on earth could she console him? If this had been Albus Potter, she could have answered him truthfully, with first-hand knowledge, but she knew nothing of Draco and Astoria's relationship, she knew nothing of the relationship Draco had with his son, she was well and truly out of her depth. But as Scorpius' eyes came up to meet hers, Hermione realised she had to say find some words of comfort.

She pulled her rickety old chair slightly forward and put her cup on the floor beside it, both her hands came to rest gently, reassuringly on Scorpius' rather bony knees.

His eyes were wide, red rimmed and expectant, this time it was Hermione who felt she needed a Firewhiskey.

"People react to death, losing someone they love very differently. I think that your Dad loved your Mum very much and maybe he's not dealing with it very well, he doesn't want to hurt or upset you anymore than you already are. So by leaving you here at school he is shielding you from his grief."

Hermione didn't know any of what she had said was fact, she could only but hope. She certainly couldn't imagine the Draco Malfoy she knew having any of those feelings or thinking any such thing. The Draco she knew was just being purely selfish as usual and not thinking about his son at all, perhaps he just didn't want his son around, maybe he was like his own father, Lucius who was only a father when it suited him. Obviously, she wasn't going to tell Scorpius that. Hermione knew compassion and understanding didn't come in abundance when you were a Malfoy, she tried to put that tactfully to the distraught young man.

"Men aren't always good at handling these kind of situations, they find their feelings difficult to talk about and cope with. Knowing your father and grandfather, I am sure that is the case. It isn't that they don't want you around. I think your father is hurting, and it has probably brought painful memories back for your grandfather, unfortunately the Malfoy men tend to be a little selfish."

Hermione breathed a little sigh of relief as she saw, comprehension and relief flood Scorpius face, thank heaven he had some of his mother's genes. He seemed to be waiting for her to carry on.

"It's Christmas Scorpius, that first Christmas without someone you love is very very hard, I know. Please do not think that your family don't want you. I don't really know your grandfather that well and your father and I were never friends, but I honestly don't think that is the case. I really do feel he is sheltering you from his own pain."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure she believed what she was telling Scorpius, but her words seemed to have permeated his pain, given him another perspective. There was a sensitivity and understanding about this young man, which Hermione had certainly never seen in Draco, or on the couple of occasions that they had met, Lucius either, it was something which didn't course through the Malfoy's pureblood.

"Scorpius." Now she instinctively reached out and touched his young face with motherly affection.

His eyes met hers once again, and this time she spoke with a little more surety.

"I know the pure blood which runs through your father and grandfather's veins means that they do not entirely understand how you feel, that they cannot comprehend your pain, but I do know that your mother's blood which runs in your veins, means that you do understand theirs, and you know what I am trying to say to you."

The young man so like his male ancestors in appearance nodded his Malfoy blonde head. Hermione hadn't known his mother, but she felt sure she would have liked her, she could almost sense her presence here now.

"I know being here with me and a handful of people you don't know very well, if at all, doesn't seem like much fun, especially in your situation, but remember we are all in the same boat and are relying on each other to make it a good Christmas."

Scorpius sent his empty mug to the sink, advanced magic for his age thought Hermione, watching as he took his cloak from the arm of the chair, he was taller and lankier than his father had been at that age and had a certain wisdom about him that Draco had never possessed. She suddenly found herself being hugged, the rickety old chair she sat in, grumbling at the sudden, rather fierce movement. She couldn't help but return his impromptu gesture of affection, patting him fondly on the back. For some strange reason, Scorpius Malfoy always brought out the maternal side of her, odd because despite her love of teaching, it wasn't an instinct which reared its head that often.

"Thank you, Professor, of course we will make it a good Christmas."

A little hue of sadness still clung to his pale Malfoy face, haunted his bright eyes and jaded his tone. But Hermione sensed her words had helped, knowing if nothing else, she had given him another viewpoint, whether it was true or not. After everything that had happened, she liked to think even Draco and his beastly father could not be that cruel to their own flesh and pureblood. No matter how much the sins of the past told her otherwise.

With another watery smile, Scorpius slipped out of the back entrance to the kitchen, and off towards the Slytherin common room, leaving Hermione a little stunned and alone with her own reflective, even angry thoughts. Whatever grief Draco was enduring, Merlin, would she like to give him a piece of her mind. How could he allow his son to suffer like this?

A gentle rustle behind her alerted Hermione to the fact that she was no longer alone, the house elves who voluntarily worked at Hogwarts must have returned to make the Christmas Eve supper. She turned to greet them, perhaps even offer her help, not of course that they would let her, only to come face to face with Scorpius' grandfather, Lucius Malfoy.


	2. A Picture of Lucius Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmm so just how much of Hermione's conversation with his grandson did Lucius Malfoy overhear, and how will he react? .......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos. So glad you are enjoying this "festive" little tale. I hope I can live up to your expectations, fingers crossed...As always apologies in advance for any faux pas etc etc

 

A hefty ominous silence hung in the air like the festive candles in the great hall.

“Miss Granger…”

His superior, sanctimonious tenor propelled Hermione Granger back twenty years or more. As did his appearance, which in those same amount of years had hardly changed at all, perhaps a few lines around his piercing grey eyes and cruel mouth, maybe there was even in grey hair in that signature mane of blonde hair he still wore like a crown. But other than that Lucius Malfoy, looked just as he had done the first time, she had laid eyes on him, hardly looking a day over forty and he had to be in his sixties now. Still cloaked from neck to foot in black, and leaning on that evil looking cane of his, with the silver serpent head. Perhaps he had a portrait in the attic at Malfoy Manor, Hermione mused silently to herself, shuddering inwardly at the thought, if he did, she truly hated to think how truly hideous it must look.

Hermione quickly drew her attention back to his dominating presence in the room, returning his address with equal curtness, as she rose elegantly from the wobbly old chair.

“Mister Malfoy!”

She recalled the hurt in his grandson’s face and the sadness in his words, her blood began to boil once more, and she couldn’t help herself.

“What a surprise to see you here.”

She almost spat the words at him, noticing those rather mesmerising grey eyes narrow, his nostrils flared, and his lip twitched ever so slightly. 

Lucius Malfoy wanted to retaliate, his gloved hand tightened around the cane on which he leant, for effect rather than necessity. He wanted to be angry with Hermione Granger, for her snarky words and for the nasty tone she had taken with him. But at that moment, all he could hear were the words of gentle reassurance she had spoken to his grandson, the soft comforting touch and manner she had used to ease his anguish. Oh yes, he had witnessed their exchange and overheard all of their conversation.

Hermione Granger was no longer the infuriating, know it all, little Mudblood classmate of his son. She was a Professor, extremely well respected, not only in her field, but by her peers and of course by the Ministry of Magic and the Minister himself.  She was also a grown woman, and a rather strikingly beautiful one at that, Lucius observed, to his own irritation.  Her forthrightness caught him off guard, but despite everything he had overheard, his own grandson’s pain, how he thought his own family didn’t want him, the Malfoy patriarch’s mind was stuck on one particular part of the exchange between Draco’s son and his former classmate.  The words, and his observation were out before he could stop them.

“I wasn’t aware that you had lost your parents Miss Granger, I am very sorry.”

This time it was Hermione who was caught totally unawares, and by so many aspects of that one short sentence. His accusatory tone started with that usual unyielding haughtiness, but softened into a husky smoothness, that if it were anyone else, she might say sounded decidedly sexy.

That he had overheard _that_ part of her conversation with Scorpius meant the former Death Eater must have overheard their entire exchange, and despite everything he’d heard, he chose to offer his sympathy for her own loss.  That in itself was quite unbelievable, under normal circumstances and again with anyone else Hermione would have graciously thanked them for their kindness, but this was Lucius Malfoy, as if she needed reminding.  Maybe she did need reminding, as she had just, no matter how fleetingly, considered him, or his voice at least, sexy. Maybe she also needed reminding because as this was Lucius Malfoy, he was not only Scorpius’ grandfather, but also, as Minerva McGonagall had pointed out earlier, a school governor, and as such, he should be thanked for his condolences. Unfortunately, the fact that he was indirectly the cause of both sources of pain, hers and Scorpius’ did not allow her brain to play ball as it might or should have. Her anger at both boiling over into her sharp retort to the Dark Wizard.

“I did not _lose_ my parents Mister Malfoy.”

She bit her lip, his words making her sound like she had misplaced them, the suggestion only increasing her anger, because in a roundabout way she supposed she had… purposely. It was all a very long time ago but having not been able to locate her parents in the intervening years, it still kept it very raw for her and her anger exceptionally fresh.

“I obliviated their memories of me.” Her voice became extremely calm and quiet.

 “To protect them from you and your kind, from Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione bit down harder on her lip, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth; even now after all these years, only those closest to her had known what the young witch had done to shield her Muggle parents, and yet here she was after less than five minutes telling one of those, she had been protecting them from.  

Through her fiery, angry eyes she noticed the Dark Wizard all but flinch at her words.  His grey eyes unexpectedly taking on the same haunted expression that his grandsons had only moment before. His always pallid complexion seeming to ashen even more, for a moment Lucius Malfoy looked every bit his age.

Hermione ran her tongue over her dry lips, the acrid taste of blood still lingering in her mouth. She didn’t want to apologise for her words, they were after all true, but seeing a second anguished Malfoy face in such a short space of time, did arouse a certain amount of guilt. It was however Lucius Malfoy who spoke first.

The Dark Wizard had every intention of countering this insolent young woman, but it was quite simple, he couldn’t. Not even he could refute the truth. The, _how dare you speak to me like that_? died on his lips, of course she dare, this young woman had dared do an awful lot of things, and from a very young age. Draco had come home on many occasions, telling him and Narcissa, exactly what the brightest witch of her age had dared do and to whom. So much had changed, since even before the war and more so since Narcissa had died, himself included.  The former Death Eater often found himself in quandary, torn between, wanting to outwardly be his old, arrogant, daunting, implacable self, to wanting people to see the humbled and remorseful man he had become.

“For that I too am truly sorry Miss Granger.”

His voice was again hushed, and there was something in his tone, his demeanour and those bloody grey eyes of his, that was so very genuine.

Whilst Hermione Granger might not know Draco’s father very well, she certainly knew the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and whatever money Lucius Malfoy might have wielded, there was no way this shrewdest of men would have allowed him back into the Ministry fold without having justification and having seen some considerable changes.  And whatever misgivings and raised eyebrows Minerva McGonagall might have, the Lucius Malfoy of old, would never have been allowed back onto the board of governors of Hogwarts.

She might not be able to forgive what this man had once done, what he had once stood for, but she could move on, she had to, the Wizarding World was a very different place now.   That said, she could not move on from the fact that, somewhere in the vast, ancient old castle his grandson was hurting, not only from the loss of his mother, but also from the belief that neither his father nor his grandfather wanted him.  That was a fact. The present made her blood boil far more than the past.  She moved a step closer to the tall blonde man standing before her, her honey brown eyes narrowed, and Hermione took a deep breath. The action was supposed to steady her, but oddly his spicy, intoxicating scent had almost the reverse effect, Hermione silently chided herself, and took another almost threatening step towards Lucius Malfoy. This time he didn’t flinch, he straightened his spine and lifted his head, pulling himself up to his full height and she noticed his fingers twitch around the silver head of his cane, of his wand, her eyes dipping briefly at the action, before they once again met his head on.

“Mister Malfoy, somewhere in this very large castle, is a very hurt, very confused young man who deserves your understanding and apologies far more than I do.”

Lucius Malfoy looked deeply into the eyes of the woman standing so defiantly in front of him. She had done the very same thing at the age of 12, precocious and audacious, clutching a book almost as big as she, he suddenly recalled. A wild mane of hair framing her bold, rosy little face as she stuck up for her friend. How peculiar he should recall such details after so many years had passed. Some years later, she had not only gone up against the Dark Lord, but also against his unhinged sister in law, that particular memory and the sounds which accompanied it needed no recall, it was shamefully and indelibly etched on his brain. Full circle he thought to himself, here she was again, facing off against him, only this time his own flesh and blood was the reason for her anger and defiance against him.  She was right of course, Scorpius did deserve his apologies, but even more, he deserved them from his own father, but right now, Draco was someone that even Lucius could not reach, so steeped in his own grief was his only son.

Hermione Granger continued to look at him waiting expectantly for him to say, or more importantly do something. How could he tell her, that he didn’t know what to say to his own grandson, or that he was unable to help his own son. Lucius Malfoy had suffered the same losses as both Draco and Scorpius, his own mother dying when he was just a little bit older than Scorpius was now, and Narcissa having passed away a couple of years ago. But the older Malfoy was of a very different time, a different breeding, he did not have the same emotions as either his son or his grandson. And whilst he mourned the loss of both his mother and his wife, he kept those emotions very much in check. 

The silence gnawed away at Hermione’s patience and her temper, whatever feelings she had thought she had seen in Lucius Malfoy’s ageless face, clearly, she had been mistaken. She shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand dismissively making to walk past him.

A gloved hand came out like a snake, his firm leather clad fingers curling around her upper arm in the same serpent like fashion.  Hermione’s face flushed, as did the rest of her body, and it wasn’t entirely in anger. Her elegantly plucked brows knitted together in consternation, her tongue poised once again to verbally assault the Dark Wizard, school governor or not. Her slender hand rose to cover his and remove it herself, starkly white against the soft black kid of his glove.

“Mister Malfoy, take your…”

“Professor Granger, I ………Grandfather!”

The exclamation from the back entrance to the kitchen caught them both by surprise, the pair turning simultaneously to see Scorpius and a pretty young Hufflepuff Regina Lambert who Hermione knew from her Muggle studies lessons. Whether she recognised Lucius Malfoy or simply because Scorpius had addressed him as Grandfather, she exchanged a quick anxious glance with the younger Malfoy and fled quickly.

Whilst Hermione couldn’t fail to notice the young blonde’s obvious delight at seeing his grandfather, she also detected more than a little apprehension. Getting the distinct impression, he was itching to run up and throw his arms around him but held back.  The thought of throwing your arms about Lucius Malfoy making her feel suddenly rather warm, especially when she realised that his hand was still grasping her arm, her own resting lightly on top of it. She moved back ever so slightly, hoping to slip his hold without drawing any attention to it, but his strong fingers remained precisely where they were, as did her own. Hermione swallowed hard and took a deep breath, her nostrils once again immediately filling with that spicy intoxicating scent.

“Scorpius, I overheard your conversation with Mi… Professor Granger.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what shocked her more, Lucius Malfoy’s abrupt, candid admission or that he had used her title.  She forgot about both when she saw the flushed horror, fear even on the younger man’s face.

“Grandfather, I’m sorry.”

“Hush boy.” Lucius said in his familiar clipped, aristocratic tone.

But despite his dismissive words, there was something strangely warm in his tone. Scorpius of course fell silent, his eyes wide as he looked from his grandfather to his professor, taking in the grip one had on the other, his eyes widening still further.

Another of _those_ ominous silences hung in the air, this time her patience was suffering more than her temper. As Lucius Malfoy had reached out and captured her arm, the tiniest of buttons on his fine leather glove had come unfastened, the swift, one might say, well practised action, causing his sleeve to rise, exposing a thin expanse of palest white flesh about his wrist. Hermione’s own hand rested devilishly close to that stark white skin, she flexed her fingers ever so slightly, it was the most infinitesimal of movements, but her sharp nails bit into his soft flesh as she pinched them together.

The tiny action, briefest of touches, minor assault, whatever you wanted to call it, sent a plethora of thoughts rushing through the Dark Wizard, oddly the foremost was, he couldn’t recall the last time his own flesh had connected with that of another human being, let alone a woman. He was equally unsure what to attribute the tsunami of peculiar feelings and sensations which coursed through his veins to … anger, shock, pain, disgust, excitement … his sparkling eyes drifted to where she touched him. Her hand pale against the darkness of his cloak, her fingers almost dark against the pallor of his own skin.  His thoughts wandered.

Hermione noticed the smallest of twitches on Lucius Malfoy’s lips, and this time, an almost indiscernible broadening of his nostrils, _clearly,_ he was keeping his temper in check? If nothing else Hermione admired his power of restraint.  What she didn’t admire was his equally clear lack of comprehension, her sharp pinch, was to hopefully have been a gentle prod in Scorpius’ direction. But he was strangely distracted, his mind seemingly somewhere else entirely. 

It suddenly occurred to Hermione, that perhaps he did not wish to speak of family matters in front of her, he would prefer to talk to his grandson alone, whatever she thought of him, she could understand that.  The problem again returned to those devil’s snare like fingers wrapped around her arm and extricating herself subtly from them. She didn’t want to embarrass herself, or Scorpius let alone a school governor even if his name was Lucius Malfoy.  Once again it was however Lucius Malfoy who spoke first, but not for one moment relinquishing his grasp on the Hogwarts Professor.

“Miss”.

Hermione saw the irritation flicker across Lucius Malfoy’s face as he corrected himself.

“Professor Granger is almost right in her summation of why you have remained her at school for Christmas.”

Again she was shocked at his candour; but cringing a little inwardly, he might be tall for his age, have more wisdom than his father but for all intense and purpose Scorpius Malfoy was still a child, a hurt one to boot. She just wished that, his Grandfather could understand that and speak to him with a little more compass ….

“I’m sorry my boy.”

Miraculously his tone had softened, as had his address, for the first time Hermione heard and saw a Grandfather in the Dark Wizard.  Those grey eyes drifted to her, she knew legilimency wasn’t a skill Draco’s father possessed, but it was almost as if through their connection, he had known what she was thinking.  His gaze drifted back to his grandson, who watched him like a niffler caught red handed.

“ **I** made the decision for you to remain here at Hogwarts.”

The former Death Eater felt the tension underneath his firm grip on Hermione Granger, ease.  His own fingers slackening, but not releasing, ensuring she remained exactly where she was. This time his gaze held his curious grandson’s, but he knew she was watching him, intently. Something told Lucius Malfoy there was an awful lot resting on what he said to this young man.

“Your father…”

He was choosing his words carefully this time, something which did not go unnoticed by Hermione.

“Your father wasn’t thinking too clearly, he is still very distracted by the loss of …” He felt a shift beneath his fingers.

“Is still very upset by your mother’s death.” He corrected himself, continuing quickly

“As I know are you. I know that you understand it is different for your father.”

Hermione could see the older man struggling with talk of emotion, why Draco was feeling as he did. He probably thought of them as weak and irksome, or maybe he simply wasn’t used to dealing with them in this way. Again Hermione found herself admiring Lucius Malfoy, at least he was here for Scorpius, at least he was trying.

 “I just felt, this would be a nicer, happier atmosphere for you to spend Christmas in. Perhaps I was wrong to make that decision for you. I’m sorry.”

Any pretext Lucius Malfoy had had about the kind of exterior he wanted to display to the outside world crumbled about him, he really didn’t care. Over the years he had made many mistakes with his own son, some of which he was still paying for, he wasn’t about to do the same with his grandson. Draco couldn’t be there for him right now, and whilst Lucius Malfoy could not reach or help his own son, he could certainly be there for Scorpius. If of course he would allow him to, after letting the poor boy think his family didn’t want him.

The delight that Hermione had seen a Scorpius’ face at seeing his grandfather reappeared. This time however there was no sign of any apprehension, the impression she’d got that they young boy wanted to run up and throw his arms around him materialised into just that.  Finally Lucius Malfoy was forced to release her arm, Scorpius’ exuberant embrace catching his grandfather off guard and pushing him backwards, leaving him with no alternative but to release Hermione, and put his arms around the younger man, all be it a tad stiffly.

Hermione was overwhelmed with so many emotions, finding tears pricking her eyes at the sight before her. Whatever Lucius Malfoy had been, he was still Scorpius’ grandfather and obviously one that was adored, after everything he had suffered this year, the younger man deserved some happiness.  The image of a truly shocked and perhaps just a little mortified former Death Eater in the warm embrace of a _child_ was in itself something to behold. That thought, about throwing your arms around Lucius Malfoy, wandering back across her mind, her hand unconsciously travelling to where his fingers had gripped her arm, an arm that now felt a little chilled and oddly bereft.

The older man patted Scorpius on the back and cleared his throat. Scorpius immediately relinquished his grip and took a step backwards, his joy however did not diminish, his cheeks rosy, his eyes sparkling brightly and a large, a rather shy smile on his face, he looked from his relative to his professor, a little apprehension again drifting across his flushed features.

“Professor…?” He began slowly, his eyes darting between the two once more.

Hermione looked questioningly at him, waiting for him to continue, clearly this was a family trait.

“Do you suppose?”

Hermione noticed a little exasperation flash across his grandfather’s pale face, she could sympathise, but having taught the younger man for just over three years, she had got quite used to his ways. Again she inclined her head, waiting for the request which was inevitably coming. Another thing she had gotten used to about Scorpius Malfoy was his persistence, so she hoped his request was going to be something feasible!

“Do you suppose that Grandfather could stay.” The young blonde cast his gaze rather nervously in the other man’s direction.

“If you would like to that is.” He added hesitantly, his eyes so much like his grandfather’s as they danced between him and Hermione.

Was that feasible, wondered Hermione? Asking the question silently for so many reasons. Alright the man was a school governor, but she could just imagine Minerva McGonagall’s reaction if she were here now, let alone when she told her that she had allowed him to stay, if of course she did. She looked at Scorpius bright, happy face, remembering the sad boy who she’d found in the kitchen earlier. For the third time, it was Lucius Malfoy who spoke first.

“I would love to stay Scorpius.”

Hermione sensed there was a but coming and was both relieved and strangely a little disappointed at the same time. Him saying he couldn’t, would certainly let her off the hook, whilst obviously upsetting Scorpius.

“But…”

There it was, for some inexplicable reason Hermione’s disappointment amplified.

“It is not up to me, I might be a school governor, but with I gather the headmistress away, Professor Granger is in charge, and as such has the say on who stays or goes as it were.”

A ridiculous little ball of pleasure burbled in Hermione’s stomach, along with a certain amount of surprise. She switched her somewhat embarrassed line of vision to the younger of the two Malfoy’s, and there was that look on Scorpius’ face, the one she knew only too well, persistence personified.

Feasibility, here brain reiterated. Truthfully it was all perfectly practicable, the other remaining students might be a little shocked to have such an infamous visitor staying with them, even if he was Scorpius’ grandfather.  The house elves, well that bridge she would cross when she came to it. The absentee Headmistress, star pupil Hermione Granger had had Professor Minerva McGonagall wrapped around her little finger since she was 11 years old, so that wasn’t going to be a problem. As for herself, Hermione kept her voice teacherlike and level as she spoke, keeping that ridiculous incomprehensible little burble of pleasure well under control.

“As both a school governor and a concerned relative, I don’t think you staying at the school will be an issue Mister Malfoy. If of course as Scorpius says, you really would like to join us.”

Hermione’s words were met with an utterly disarming smile, that was completely genuine, there was nothing sneering or patronising about it, it changed his entire face and demeanour, nothing like the Lucius Malfoy she knew of old. 

“I would like that very much, thank you.”

His impeccable manners and gratitude were almost as unsettling as the smile and Hermione felt rather warm again.

Warmth, gratitude and ease of conversation with a Muggle born, had not been something which came easily to the Dark Wizard, even after all these years and despite everything that had happened.

Draco and his late wife Astoria, had, not without a struggle initially, brought a very different perspective to his Pureblood life and ways, as of course had his beloved grandson.  Narcissa’s death had changed things yet again, another tie to the old ways and his former life gone.  Strangely, as he did show both warmth and gratitude, to Hermione Granger it was impossible now to think of her as the hateful little Mudblood he once had. In fact the thought all but turned his stomach. Now the once arrogant pureblood, saw nothing but that beautiful, intelligent and caring woman, that everyone else had always seen. A woman, who despite what he and his family had once done to her and her kind, was able to show his grandson nothing but caring and understanding. Lucius Malfoy felt a little more of his pretext and façade crumble away. To her credit, despite that initial hostility she had shown him, Hermione Granger returned his warmth, all be it a little more warily, and for that he could not blame her.

“You are welcome Mister Malfoy, it will be good for Scorpius to have you here.”

Hermione paused, this time it was her turn to choose her words with a little more care.

“And for the rest of us it will be…interesting.”

She noticed those same almost indiscernible movements in his face, although this time there was a definite twitch of amusement on his lips, an action she found rather mesmerising.

“Mister Malfoy, where would you like to sleep?”

Practicality crept in, Hermione’s gaze drifting from Lucius Malfoy’s hypnotic, twitching, even more amused lips, to his wickedly glinting grey blue eyes.  She silently berated herself. She could have phrased that so much better, it was an innocuous enough question, normally. The beds in the dormitories were smaller and would not be the most comfortable for a man of his height, she was sure the current head of Slytherin house would in his absence be happy to accommodate such an illustrious visitor. Posed to Lucius Malfoy, the question seemed far from innocent, his eyes darkening. Thankfully it was Scorpius who unknowingly came to her rescue.

“Oh Grandfather, come and sleep in the dormitories it will be so much nicer.”

Lucius Malfoy dragged his attention from Hermione Granger, and his mind out of the gutter where it shamefully seemed to have landed. What in Salazar’s name was he thinking? He was in a school, with his grandson and thinking about a woman the same age as his son. 

He very much doubted the factuality of Scorpius’ statement, but could not say no to him.

“Of course it will.” He said, hoping he sounded convincing, his mind, and body still elsewhere.

As his glance darted back to Hermione Granger, he couldn’t help, but notice her lightly flushed cheeks, and the gentle rosy hue which graced her slender neck and chest. Her warm brown eyes briefly clashed with his own, for perhaps a moment longer than they should have.

“Scorpius.” She said, her voice sounding rather breathy even to her own ears.

“Why don’t you take you grandfather along to the Slytherin dormitories and I will speak to the house elves about supper.”.

Thankfully an excited Scorpius Malfoy ushered his grandfather out of the kitchen, leaving a flustered Hermione to sink back into the rickety old chair.


	3. Too Close For Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra guest at the Hogwarts Christmas Eve table.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks for lovely comments and lots of kudus. I hope you continue to enjoy. 
> 
> I always feel a tad guilty when I recount from books/film and have the cheek to call it fanfiction, but I think I can get away with it.....I hope I can....Usual apologies for any errors that might rear their ugly heads.....

 

Hermione had toyed with the idea of having the Christmas Eve supper in the kitchen, but knowing how the house elves would react to students in the kitchen, let alone Lucius Malfoy as a guest she decided against it.

Even though there were now nine of them, the Great Hall was far too big, well without the aid of magic it was far too big. She was once again put in mind of her third year and how Professor Dumbledore had moved the long house tables, to accommodate the small group that had remained back then. With a few enchantments and charms of her own, she too had transformed the vast space which usually accommodated all of the Hogwarts students and staff into an intimate and festive nook.  Hermione smiled to herself, she might have had more trouble explaining this to the headmistress, than the presence of a former Death Eater.  

The long, heavy oak, trestle table the teachers usually occupied, had been reduced in size and was now a squat rectangular shape which comfortably sat nine people, with of course room for all of the festive fayre. There were always twelve enormous beautifully decorated trees in the Great Hall, five on each side and one at either end, to create a cosier atmosphere and make the hall seem much smaller, Hermione had exchanged the four house tables for more trees, all glistening with respectively coloured baubles and lights, giving the illusion of a forest of decorated trees that lead to the main table.  The giant fireplace which dominated one side of the room burnt in their midst, giving a warm homely glow.  With the aid of a little more magic Hermione hung eight Christmas stockings along the mantle, two with the Ravenclaw crest, four Hufflepuffs and two Slytherin, and partridge in a pear tree she sung aloud, another larger smile curving her lips, as she added a simple gift tag to the last one.  

The stockings didn’t have anything fancy or expensive in, just traditional items from the days of Christmas past, it was something her mother had done every year, Hermione’s smile became reflective and just a little sad. She straightened the stockings with a wave of her wand, each one containing a handful of nuts, a tangerine, a peppermint toad, a sickle and a small gift indicative to each recipient. Fortunately Hermione knew a little something about everyone who was at Hogwarts this Christmas, all except one of course, that particular stocking she’d had to come back to, inspiration coming to her at the 11th hour as it were, just before the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The excited chatter and exchanges at Hermione’s transformation fell to a deathly hush when Scorpius arrived with his grandfather, luckily everyone’s enthusiasm was contagious, and they soon forgot whose presence they were in and got on with eating, drinking copious amounts of pumpkin juice and enjoying their Christmas Eve together.

“You have done an excellent job, Professor.”

Hermione had intended to sit the other adult at the opposite end of the table to herself, Lucius Malfoy it appeared had other ideas, quite possibly because she was the only other adult there and at least they might have something to talk about, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was the case.

His warm breath fanned her cheek as he leaned in to speak over the excited chatter, perhaps just a little closer than was necessary.

“Thank you.”

She turned her head ever to slightly towards him, that spicy intoxicating scent of his rising above even the smell of hundreds of pine needles, to fill her senses.  As always with Lucius Malfoy, he was far too close for comfort.

His hand came to unexpectedly cover hers as it rested on the table, this time there was no soft kid leather between his hand and her skin. Perhaps even more surprisingly Hermione didn’t flinch, nor did she pull away, she had the oddest sensation, feeling as if a gentle current of electricity were moving through her.

“No thank you.” He insisted softly, his fingers emphasising the point, as they gently squeezed hers.

“For being so kind and understanding to my grandson and for allowing me to stay here with him.”

He glanced at the table of happy, excited pupils, a smile curving his mouth, but sadness reflecting in his eyes.

“With you all, I …”

“Professor Granger?”

Hermione felt his hand withdraw, she was again filled with that odd cold bereft feeling as she looked up to meet the enquiring tone of Rupert Harewood, a round faced, first year Ravenclaw, who reminded her of Vincent Crabbe, in more ways than one.

“Those stockings hanging along the fireplace? He went on curiously, as the others at the table followed his line of sight.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “Yes” She said, knowing full well what was coming next.

She really felt the sorting hat had put this boy in the wrong house, but apparently there had been a couple of Harewood’s in Ravenclaw, just not during her time.

“Are they for decoration or for us?”

Hermione tried to maintain a more serious face, but suddenly found herself looking at seven expectant, eager faces and could hold out no longer.

“They are for you all of course. One each, your house crests are on the front, your names on the pegs at the top.”

The first year Ravenclaw and youngest member of the group was at the fireplace before Hermione could utter another word.

“There are two Slytherin ones.” He observed, his cherubic face frowning.

“There are.” Hermione responded casting a quick glance in Lucius Malfoy’s direction before returning her attention to the Harewood boy.

“That’s because Rupert there are two Slytherin’s here.  Like your father and your older brother, Scorpius’ grandfather was also a Slytherin.”

The explanation that there was even a stocking for the School governor was accepted quickly and without further question, the seven students all excitedly opening theirs. Squealing with delight at the simple contents and token gifts they had all received. Despite the feast they had just consumed the edible things all vanished, the scent of tangerines filling the air. The peppermint toads proved extremely popular and caused much hilarity after consumption as they bounced and wriggled around in full tummies.

Amidst the noisy excitement, Hermione used a little wandless magic to lift and pass the last remaining stocking in Lucius Malfoy’s direction. He took the black sock with the Slytherin serpent crest embossed on the front, his name elegantly written on a tiny tag, and peered inside. Another of those genuine smiles curving, what once Hermione had thought of as a very cruel mouth. He too retrieved a small handful of cob nuts, a shiny dimpled tangerine, a silver sickle and a token gift. Right at the very bottom of his stocking was a small lavender blue bottle, no more than about 3inches tall, it had a cork firmly wedged in the top and a deep lilac seal securing it.  A hand-written label, with the smallest of black printing read Occamy Egg Yolk Shampoo, underneath in even smaller print was signed the name Gilderoy Lockhart.

The Dark Wizard had no idea what to say, he really was genuinely touched, not an emotion he was overly familiar with, people generally didn’t do nice things for a former follower of the Dark Lord.

He’d watched in amusement as the youngsters had dived into their stockings, devouring nuts, fruit and sweets as they went along. Whooping with utter delight at gifts which included a miniature quill, a carved wooden animal, a tiny set of mittens which stretched to full size and other such delights, Scorpius for his part loved the miniature photo frame, with the tiny heart shaped mount, he clutched it in his hand, smiling broadly, Lucius not needing even two guesses as to who’s image would be placed in there.

Perhaps the exceptionally bright Miss Granger was unaware of what she had actually given him, he looked at the tiny bottle clasped in his own hand and back at her. A wry smile lifted that pretty pink mouth of hers, for the briefest of moments, but just a moment too long his grey eyes lingered on it, before meeting her brown eyes.  Oh, she knew exactly what she had given him, but it had nothing to do with the value of the gift, but everything to do with the thought behind it and the fact that there was a stocking there for him at all, the stocking and the small gift spoke volumes.

“I have nothing for you.” He whispered, crossing the expanse of stone floor which separated them, in a couple of meaningful strides.

“Not a tangerine or even a sickle.” He slid his hand into an empty pocket.

“Nothing” He said somewhat shamefaced, shrugging his broad shoulders.

Hermione didn’t want her words to sound corny or flowery, but she had a feeling they were going to do precisely that.

“You don’t give presents to receive them Mister Malfoy, it would just have been rude of me not to include you.”

Appearing rude, wasn’t really the reason why she had included Scorpius’ grandfather. Her parents had always reminded Hermione that Christmas was a time for, _goodwill to all men._  Hermione felt maybe now was a good time to extend a little of that goodwill to Lucius Malfoy, feeling strangely as if they would approve of her generosity of spirit. The restrained joy on his face, coupled with a shock he tried desperately to conceal made that benevolence well worthwhile, and Hermione silently thanked her much missed parents.  She drew her attention back from Christmas passed to quite literally Christmas present….

 “Anyway you have given me something.” She acknowledged quietly.

Lucius Malfoy was clearly taken aback, his dark blonde brows furrowing questioningly.

“I have?” He asked, his tone steeped in curiosity.

“A happy Christmas for Scorpius.” Her words sounded more clichéd that she had imagined, and she went on quickly.

“As you are aware, he was most forlorn before you arrived, and I know how hard it is, that first Christmas.” She saw a flicker of guilt in his face, her own harsh words to him earlier no doubt, but she would still not apologise for them.

“Professor Granger?”

And again, she was stopped mid flow, Lucius Malfoy also seeing the irony, as they both turned in the direction of the question. This time posed by Regina Lambert, the pretty Hufflepuff who’d been with Scorpius earlier.

“Yes Miss Lambert.”

“What did you used to do on Christmas Eve when you were our age?” She asked her big green eyes glowing with interest.

That sad reflective little smile was back on Hermione’s face, as she was again transported back to Christmases of yesterday, she caught Lucius Malfoy watching her intently, those eyes of his reflecting what almost looked like concern, she noticed he took a small step forward, bringing him closer to her. His presence had always been more than a little unsettling, but this was something very different. Hermione drew her thoughts back to Regina Lambert’s question.

There were certain traditions always upheld in the Granger household, but none more so than on Christmas Eve, from the food and the carols, to the stockings and the stories. Oh those wonderful stories her father used to tell.

“My father used to tell stories.” She told them, her voice wistful and a little far away.

She smiled at the assembled students, their expressions one of collective expectation. Their attention wavering between herself and the Dark Wizard.  An idea struck Hermione, although she imagined the Dark Wizard’s stories might be more suitable for Halloween, but surely, he must have something he could, or would recount for them.

“Perhaps Mister Malfoy has a story or two that he might like to share?”

The older man had been so focused on Hermione, wondering how she would react to their question, he hadn’t noticed the attention shift to him.  Realising what she had said, Lucius Malfoy responded.

“I don’t really tell stories” He began rather stiffly; a little buzz of disappointment greeted his words.

“And I think mine might be a little dark for a Christmas Eve.” He admitted, trying to placate them, but to his horror and even amusement every set of eyes now fixed on him, lit up.

“Hmm”.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pacing in front of the crackling fire. Turning back to the small group, all of whom had now settled themselves comfortably back in a chair and were waiting eagerly, their Professor included.

“Well I suppose, if you consider it a story, I could always tell you about the first time I encountered the famous Harry Potter.”

There was an excited little murmur of anticipation and Lucius could swear each set of eyes grew larger. He also noticed a distinct hue of colour flush their professors’ cheeks.

Lucius remained standing, his back to the great fireplace, it popped and spat behind him, giving him the perfect backdrop. The former Death Eater might not tell stories, but he impressively looked the part, dressed from head to toe in black, his long blonde hair highlighted by the flames at his rear, cascading about his shoulders. His silver and ebony cane clutched between his large hands, the emerald eyes of the serpent head glinting wickedly in the firelight. He certainly had a flair for the dramatic, the children were enthralled and despite the fact she had actually been there, so was Hermione Granger.

 

“I’m sure you are aware of this already, but let me begin by saying, things were very different before the Second Wizarding War, much emphasis was put on status and blood by many, myself and my family included back then.”

The last thing he wanted to do was overstep any boundaries or to turn the tale into a horror story, nor did he want it to sound like a justification of his past deeds, but by saying that, despite it being a Christmas Eve story, Lucius found himself wanting to ensure it was factually correct, even if that meant painting him and Draco a poor light.  He glanced briefly in the Professor’s direction, she gave him a simple nod of approval.

“Sufficed to say Draco and myself were not particularly _nice_ to those _we_ considered beneath us, or of lesser blood.”

This time his glance fell upon his grandson, thankfully Scorpius gave him an encouraging smile.

“I think perhaps you could safely call us Wizarding snobs of the highest order.”

He actually relished the giggles which met his comments, finding himself rather enjoying story telling.

“At the time, The Ministry of Magic was conducting raids on many wizarding homes, looking for items of dark magic. Scorpius’ father and I had been to a shop in Knockturn Alley, a rather insalubrious establishment called Borgin and Burke’s, where I had sold a few questionable items … just in case.”

He padded out his well-chosen words nicely with details, his haughty aristocratic tone lending itself perfectly to the account, but he didn’t elaborate on the _items_ , narrowing his eyes for effect at his captivated audience. They all seemed to lean in closer as he continued.

“We then moved on to Flourish and Blotts to purchase the books required for Draco’s second term here at Hogwarts.”

His eyes watched his audience as keenly as they watched him. Noticing the recognition in their faces as he mentioned the refurbished, but equally dusty old bookshop in Diagon Alley, where every Hogwarts pupil purchased their school books.  

“Your father, Scorpius, was being particularly nasty to a group of his fellow Hogwarts students, who were also in the shop, taunting a Mister Harry Potter, about having a girlfriend as I recall.”

He paced a little more, his audience were completely entranced. Scorpius continued to smile encouragingly.

“As I recall, the young lady in question was his friend Ronald Weasley’s sister Ginevra, he was there too of course, along with some of his brothers. There was also another close friend with them, one Miss Hermione Granger.”  

This time there was a very audible gasp from Lucius Malfoy’s attentive listeners, all of whom seemed to cast their eyes in Hermione’s direction, she got the distinct impression she was about to pay dearly for suggesting Lucius Malfoy turn story teller.

The devilish twinkle that glistened in those piercing eyes of his, suited him so much better than the harsh unfeeling glint she had once seen, and the little smile which curved his mouth, became him so much more than the sneer he used to perpetually wear. Then he looked like he had a very unpleasant smell under his nose, now he looked as if he were actually enjoying himself.

The days when Lord Voldemort had been referred to “as he who must not be named” had long since passed; the second Wizarding War was taught in the school just like any other historical subject in History of Magic classes, Hermione’s own subject of Muggle Studies also encompassed how Muggles and their offspring, or half-bloods had been treated at the time. But the Dark Wizard was still mindful, respectful even, how he related the story, again at his own expense.

“I haughtily introduced myself, to the young Mister Potter, he was about the same age as you.”

He singled out a second year Hufflepuff seated next to Scorpius, with his cane. The boy shifted a little nervously, but not once did his attention wane, nodding eagerly when Lucius Malfoy said…

“Twelve?”

Hermione swore she saw him wink at the young boy, but she must have been mistaken.

“Like everyone else, who hadn’t met Harry Potter before, curiosity got the better of me, his scar was legendary.”

He had edged closer to the Hufflepuff whom he had picked on, the serpent head of his cane brushing the young boy’s forehead, just as it had done Harry’s all those years before. The boy’s eyes widened like a terrified house elf, none the less enjoying the attention and no doubt substituting for the famous Harry Potter. The Dark Wizard took a step backward, the fire roaring as if on cue behind him.

 

“As of course was the wizard who gave it to him, which I less than tactfully said to Mister Potter. Lord Voldemort was after all responsible for the death of the young man’s parents, something he was quick, and not afraid to point out.”

Lucius Malfoy remembered the young Harry Potter’s green eyes blazing at him from behind his spectacles, as he told him without fear, that the man was nothing more than a murderer.

“Back then, as I am sure you know, the name of The Dark Lord was not spoken aloud, so to hear the young Mister Potter utter it without regard or fear, well I told him he must be very brave to mention his name, or very foolish.”

Hermione squirmed in her seat, she remembered Lucius Malfoy’s first encounter with Harry as if it were yesterday, but she remembered what happened next as if had only happened minutes before. She had to admit she found it astonishing that Lucius Malfoy could recall the interaction with such inordinate clarity, verbatim even.

“At which point I was firmly taken to task, and somewhat put in my place, by your Professor here. Clutching a rather large book, sporting her Gryffindor cloak, and a very defiant look”

Just as they had done that day, his penetrating grey eyes fixed on Hermione, she felt heat suffuse her face and her body, but honestly had to question whether it had anything to do with his surprisingly vivid recollection of over twenty years ago. He gave her the exact same questioning look.

“Do you recall your wor…”

“Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself” She supplied without a second thought, before he’d even completed his question.

“I am afraid, I was equally as arrogant and disdainful, if not more so to your Professor than I had been to Mister Potter.”

There was another collective little gasp.

Lucius Malfoy raised his head slightly, again looking snootily down his aquiline nose at the seated young woman.  

“And you must be Miss Granger”

His voice was every bit as clipped and derisive as it had been that day, the look on his face just as if he had that very bad smell under his nose. But there was a softness to his mouth, and a sparkle in those once cold hard eyes.

 “Oh yes Draco’s told me all about you.” He stopped.

Whilst there was still defiance in the young woman’s face, her nose did not wrinkle in anger, nor did she glare at him with abhorrence, there was a soft warmth in her big brown eyes which told him it was okay to go on, to finish the sentence just as he had done that day.

“And your parents… Muggles, aren’t they?”

Another shared gasp went around the group, it was much louder this time. The sound breaking the odd recollective connection which seem to sizzle in the air and hold the Dark Wizard and the Hogwarts Professor together in a moment, frozen in time.

The group’s attention had moved back to their professor, presuming or perhaps hoping that she had come back with some suitable retort or maybe even something more. Hermione oddly felt the reality was going to be a bit of an anti-climax, Lucius Malfoy’s theatricality and obvious penchant for recounting a story, came to her rescue.  He moved like a sleek black cat, threateningly taking them all in.

“Just as it is now, magic was not allowed to be practised outside of the school by those under the age of 17.” His dark blonde brows knitted together menacingly as he reiterated the Hogwarts rule.

“But I have to confess, from the angry look on Miss Granger’s face, and her glistening eyes, I did not doubt for one moment, that neither this rule nor her tender age, would preclude her from hexing me.  I quickly turned my condescending distaste to Mister Potter’s other friends.”

Remembering the interaction which followed between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley just as well as she had the rest of the meeting in the old bookshop, not to mention the string of events which had ensued, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how much more of the story the Dark Wizard would actually retell.  As had become somewhat of a trend for the evening, Hermione found her ponderings interrupted by yet another eager pupil.

“Were you and Scorpius’ father friends when you were here at Hogwarts Professor?”

The only other girl in the group asked, a freckle faced Hufflepuff by the name of Lyra Rowles asked. To the barely concealed amusement of his Grandfather and his Professor, it was a rather unceremonious snort from Scorpius which in a roundabout way answered the innocent, albeit rather naïve question.

“Don’t be daft Lars,” By his laughter, and easy use of a nickname, it was clear the youngest Malfoy and the redheaded Hufflepuff were good friends.

“All those years ago, purebloods and Muggle-borns weren’t friends.”

The young blonde caught his Grandfather’s narrowed eyes, his gaze shifting sheepishly to his teacher, realising what he had said, but uncertain how to make it better, without making it ten times worse first.

“Sorry Grandfather, Professor Granger, I just meant…”

Seeing the not entirely angry look on Lucius Malfoy’s face, Hermione decided it was perhaps her turn to interject, she shook her head, but gave Scorpius a warm smile.

“Whilst I must take exception to your _historical dating_ of the event Scorpius. I cannot argue with the actual facts.”

She adopted her best teaching tones.

“As I am sure your grandfather can no doubt attest to. Your father and I were definitely not friends, I think we only ever spoke to trade insults, or for Draco to say… _Wait until my father hears about this.”_

The younger Malfoy glanced back at his grandfather, Lucius for his part looked a little flushed, quite the thing on his usually pallid skin.

After the retelling of the Flourish and Blotts incident, it was nice for Hermione to be able to turn the tables on her one-time nemesis.

“Mister Malfoy here, was also a school governor… way back then.”

This time she gave Scorpius and equally raised eyebrow of her own, emphasising his previous “ _historical dating”._

_“_ If your father got himself into any mischief that he couldn’t handle, or some misdeed backfired on him, we were always threatened with the wrath of the powerful and formidable Lucius Malfoy.”

Lucius inclined his blonde head arrogantly in acknowledgement of Hermione’s comment, but she was close enough to see that slightly amused curling of his lip and the now rather familiar twinkle in his eye. Lucius Malfoy had a very obvious tell, he would make a lousy poker player, she thought to herself. Playing poker with the Dark Wizard now there was a thought, a thought she quickly brushed aside as it suddenly took a very different turn, to a very different type of poker…

His voice had adopted an even more aristocratic timbre, and he seemed to be looking even further down his nose at the younger woman, but his tell was still very much in evidence, to Hermione at least. The youngsters were riveted by the exchange, their eyes wider than ever.

“I am not sure even the _powerful and formidable_ Lucius Malfoy would have been foolish enough to have wreaked his wrath on the brightest witch of her age, let alone one who wielded such an accurate right hook.”

It took a few seconds for his words to register, when they did Hermione wasn’t sure what surprised her more. The uncharacteristic Muggle boxing term used by the Dark Wizard, or the fact that Draco Malfoy had told his father about that particular incident at all. Telling your father you had been punched in the face by a girl was bad enough, that it was a Gryffindor and it was that Mudblood Hermione Granger, that must have been some revelation.


	4. Telling Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the upholding of a Granger Christmas tradition and the telling of a Hogwarts tale.....literally....enjoy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well of course my continued thanks for your lovely comment and kudos. I feel even more guilty now that I didn't get to post this at Christmas.
> 
> So as I said last time I do feel a little guilty when I retell and old story, as someone described it in a review...but I really hope you will enjoy the retelling of this old story and the fun behind it. As always I apologise for any errors whatever they might be...and before anyone says it there is a little film/book mix here... that said lets get on with it and the telling of tales...

 

It was like a Quidditch match, all eyes had shifted once more from Lucius Malfoy to her. Hermione’s own eyes sparkled at the memory, she couldn’t help but wonder how that particular conversation had come about, but more to the point she couldn’t help but wonder how Draco’s telling of events compared to her own, the real story. A tiny grin tugged at her mouth, she chewed on her bottom lip desperate to stop it from becoming a full-blown smile.  Oddly it was Draco’s father’s words which turned it into precisely that, as he once again seemed quite adept at reading her thoughts.

“I cannot help but wonder if your stories will match Professor?”

There was a sly, daring almost humorous tone to his voice now, and it was an invitation if ever she had heard one. Clearly, he was as keen as Scorpius and his fellow students to hear her version.

Unlike the few minutes in Flourish and Blotts, when Hermione Granger had slugged Draco Malfoy square on the nose, the train of events had been the best part of an afternoon and some of the evening, twice over!

It might be Christmas Eve, but it was getting late, and Hermione really wasn’t up to telling the complete story, once, let alone twice. She decided the abridged version would be better and equally as entertaining, and just as Lucius Malfoy had omitted the part from his recollection, of Tom Riddle’s diary in Ginny Weasley’s cauldron, she would leave out the part about Minerva McGonagall’s time turner, and the fact she not only got to punch the insufferable blonde once, but twice.

The Dark Wizard gestured the spot in front of the roaring fire, as if he were offering her centre stage. She took his place, but acciod a chair, sitting just to the side of the great fireplace, watching as he made himself comfortable in the chair she had previously been occupying.  She cleared her throat.

“Well, like all good stories, I really need to start at the beginning to give it context, take you back to how this particular afternoon and incident, came about in the first place.”

Having Draco’s son, not to mention his father, listening to her recollection of events was to say the least, daunting. But Scorpius seemed ridiculously excited to be hearing tales of his father’s time at school and Lucius Malfoy, well he appeared just as bizarrely enthralled and still somewhat amused.  Glancing at all of the other eager faces, Hermione could see why the Dark Wizard had enjoyed himself so much.

“During my third year as a pupil here at Hogwarts… _all those years ago_ …”

There were collective giggles, at her emphasis and some blushing from Scorpius, but it was all good natured. Hermione was pleased to see him looking so much happier than he had done a few hours earlier, thanks of course in part to his grandfather’s presence.

“Hagrid, who was full time gamekeeper at the time, took on a teaching position”

There were some oohs from the small audience.

The 93-year-old half giant was still Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, and when his rheumatism allowed, he kept his hand in with a bit of gamekeeping, and general jobs around the school, like the overseeing of Christmas decorations. For a very large nonagenarian, he was still remarkably spritely. The staff and even some of the students frequently visited him at his hut for tea and rock cakes if they knew no better, Hermione and the Headmistress amongst them, he loved every minute. And despite the often-cold days and his advanced years, he was nearly always at the Quidditch matches. As Harry had once told the lovable, bearded half giant, Hogwarts wouldn’t be Hogwarts without him.

“The Care of Magical Creatures.” Hermione added, catching Lucius Malfoy’s knowing eye.

“It was a beautiful day and for our very first lesson with him, and he’d taken us to the paddock on the edge of the forbidden forest. Your father was already less than impressed.”

She once again directed her comments at the youngest Malfoy.

“He felt that Hagrid teaching classes was beneath Hogwarts and that once _his father_ , found out he would have fit.” 

Hermione might have been a teacher, but the majority of stories that she told came from books, and if she did recount the odd tale of Muggle life it was usually very brief and equally generic. So really, she was as new to this as Lucius Malfoy, but just like he had obviously done, she found herself easily slipping into the role, and enjoyed setting the scene, padding the tale out with flourishes and incidentals.

“After solving the mystery of how we got safely into our copies of The Monster Book of Monsters, he introduced us to our first magical creatures, Hippogriffs.”

A few more gasps and oohs rippled around the great fireplace, she wasn’t entirely sure if they were meant for the spiteful book, or the strange looking creatures, which as mostly first and second years, they wouldn’t be actually acquainted with either yet.

“I don’t know how much you know about Hippogriffs, but as Hagrid told us, the _firs thing yeh gotta know about Hippogriffs is they’re proud._ ”

There were collective giggles from her audience at her attempt to imitate Hagrid’s gruff country accent and she did her best to carry it on, wagging finger as she spoke for effect…

“Don’t ever insult one, he told us _Cos it just might be the last thing yeh do.”_

The eyes focused on Hermione got bigger, and the shared aahs louder.

Everyone’s that was except for Lucius Malfoy, oh his eyes were focused on Hermione alright, but in a completely different way. An alien warmth spreading through his body as he watched her speak animatedly. Enjoying the pretty flush on her face and neck, which for some reason, like himself, he felt sure had nothing to do with the blazing fire. He really didn’t care if he story was the same as his son’s, in fact he was certain it would bear little or no resemblance at all to Draco’s account of events, the notion amused him all the more and he continued to listen with intent, what kind of intent? Well that was a very different story. Like his Grandson, the older Malfoy was beginning very much to enjoy this Christmas.

“Hagrid introduced us to Buckbeak, a particularly majestic Hippogriff, I think we were all very nervous of the large powerfully winged creature.”

Remembering that afternoon and the tea leaves Professor Trelawney had read to Harry, she thought terrified would have been a more accurate description, but she didn’t want to scare the younger students too much, stop them from taking the class when their time came. 

 “You have to allow them to make the first move and you must bow to them, _its polite.”_

Obviously Magical Creatures wasn’t her subject of expertise, but Hermione remembered enough from her own school days and even now she was still a bit of a swat, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them was always a book she liked to reread from time to time.

“Harry…Potter.” She added without really needing too.

“He was very polite to Buckbeak, he bowed and after a few moments Buckbeak bowed back, so far so good. Harry petted him carefully and gently on his enormous beak. His reward a ride, the beautiful creature took off with Harry between his wings for a ride around the paddock.”

The awe in the faces of those sitting before her was evident, even Scorpius was enthralled. Hermione avoided catching his grandfather’s eye.

“However, not everyone was as respectful as Harry. Draco thought that Hagrid had exaggerated somewhat and that befriending a Hippogriff was in fact ridiculously easy, striding up to him arrogantly, as only Draco Malfoy could. Buckbeak didn’t take kindly to being insulted, and when Draco said he wasn’t dangerous and called him an ugly great brute. Well Buckbeak retaliated with a flash of steely talons and Draco ended up on the floor curled up in the grass clutching his arm and screaming I’m dying! It’s killed me!”

She rolled her eyes and gave her captive audience a disapproving smile, still avoiding Lucius Malfoy’s ever watchful grey eyes.

“Sufficed to say, Buckbeak hadn’t killed Draco, but of course your father was milking it for all he was worth. Swathed in bandages as I recall and having Madam Pomfrey running around after him, like he was in fact dying.”

She shook her head at Scorpius, smiling at him none the less, he looked so much like his father with his blonde hair and finely chiselled features, but there was a warmth about him which she knew was inherently from his mother.

“It was only a couple of days before he was _holding court,_ in this very hall, telling half of Slytherin House, how only moments longer and he would have lost his arm. An arm he now wore in a sling like a badge of honour… Anyway because of the _severity_ of the incident the school governors had been informed and of course Draco’s father did indeed hear about it.”

This time, Hermione’s gaze came purposely to rest on Lucius Malfoy, their eyes clashing once more. Hermione just couldn’t resist.

“So how are the recollections matching up so far Mister Malfoy?”

The Quidditch match continued and all eyes once again returned to the Dark Wizard.

He angled that famous blonde head of his at a familiarly haughty stance, Hermione saw his mouth twitch and his nostrils flare sneeringly, but his tell belied his facial expressions once again.

“There is perhaps a discrepancy or two.” He conceded in his famous icy, clipped manner.

Hermione was itching to ask, such as?

“Like what Grandfather?”

Despite the Lucius Malfoy she had seen so far this evening, Hermione Granger was still exceedingly wary of the man of old. Whatever fear Scorpius might have of him, curiosity about his father, far outweighed it. The older Malfoy shot his grandson a look which quite frankly scared the living daylights out of Hermione, but clearly in this instance Scorpius was not going to be deterred and two sets of Malfoy Grey eyes clashed head on, two very determined blonde heads tilted upwards.  Hermione could actually see more of Lucius in the younger man, than she could Draco.  Since the first day she had met Draco Malfoy, he had relied on who his family, who his father was, Scorpius had a very different inner strength and stubbornness, which Hermione again suspected came from his mother.  

She saw Lucius eyes soften somewhat indulgently on his grandson, and then she saw him smile, the action far more disconcerting than the steely look he had given him moments earlier, his broad shoulders lifted in a resigned shrug.

“Like it would seem Scorpius, most of it.”

The Dark Wizard admitted with surprising candour and even more surprising good humour, taking over part of the account from Hermione.

“The Governors, I amongst them of course, had been informed by the Headmaster that there had been an incident at the school during a lesson, involving my son and a Hippogriff, and that Draco had sustained a minor injury. Which is more in keeping with Professor Granger’s account here. However…”

He too paused and took in the sea of faces watching him attentively.

“Well rather than digress into yet another tale of Hogwarts days of yore, let’s just say following a _happening_ the previous year, the then Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and I were not on the best of terms.”

He traded another look with Hermione. _Happening_ being somewhat of an understatement considering the chain of events which had occurred the previous term, but that really was another very different story.

“I therefore assumed, wrongly, that the Headmaster was covering up the severity of my son’s injury to protect Hagrid. On seeing Draco in _agony_ in the hospital wing, swathed in bandages I took his word about what had actually happened.”

His eyes briefly met Hermione’s once more, before he volunteered Draco’s inaccurate account of the lesson.

“Which involved my son basically being singled out of the class and told to catch and tether the vicious creature whilst Mister Potter and his friends looked on, and when the Hippogriff got out of hand Draco was left to fend for himself. Before help finally arrived and he received medical attention.”

Save the crackling of the fire, the great hall was silent, and Lucius Malfoy couldn’t fail to hear the shocked intake of breath from Hermione Granger.  Obviously, it was the first time she had heard Draco’s version of the story. His almost sheepish silvery grey gaze carefully met hers. It glistened more fiercely than the fire. Lucius silently thanked himself he was not recounting this some twenty or more years before, she would have surely hexed him without a second thought, not to mention Draco, and she hadn’t even got to the interesting bit yet. His focus shifted to a clearly shocked Scorpius.

“It would appear Scorpius your father, could tell a much better tale than I. He certainly had a flair for storytelling and his embellishment it would appear, was second to none.”

Still glaring at the senior Malfoy, although not entirely in disbelief, she had after all spend six years at school with Draco and knew exactly what he was capable of, lies included. She resumed the story.

“Because of the _severity_ of Draco’s injury.” She frowned at Lucius Malfoy.

“The fact that his father had indeed heard about it, was on the board of School governors and at the time wielded an inordinate amount of influence with the then Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, Hagrid had to appear before the Ministry committee for the Destruction of Dangerous Creatures, to defend both himself and Buckbeak.”

Even in the relative dimness of the fire and candlelit hall, the Hogwarts Professor once more felt the penetrative gaze of the former Death Eater upon her.

It was strange, despite her admonishing Scorpius for his terminology, it really was a very long time ago, but she could remember her words to Harry and Ronald when they found out that Buckbeak was to be executed. Just because Lucius Malfoy was sitting here, and his grandson was a pupil she wasn’t going to hold back.  The pattern for the evening continued.

“Is that why you punched my father?” Scorpius asked, perhaps a little too gleefully.

“Partly.” She admitted truthfully.

“Your father’s lies, and exaggerations had put Hagrid before that Ministry of Magic committee. They had also put your grandfather before them, who as I recall told them, Buckbeak was a deadly and dangerous creature who would kill you as soon as look at you. The fact of who your grandfather was, and the influence he wielded, scared the committee in condemning Buckbeak to execution.”

There was another of those collective gasps, once more the volume had risen.   Hermione went on quickly before any more questions arose.

“The day Buckbeak was due to be executed, myself, Harry and Ronald Weasley were on our way to see Hagrid, to see if there was anything we could do to help, he was of course very upset. On the way to his hut, we caught your father and a couple of his friends joyfully watching and waiting for the horrible deed. I overheard your father, telling his cronies, that _his father,_ had promised that he could keep the Hippogriff’s head, and Draco was going to _donate_ it to the Gryffindor common room.”

Hermione noticed Scorpius wrinkle his nose in distaste, pulling a suitably disgusted face he cast a sidelong glance in his grandfather’s direction, for the first time she noticed the Dark Wizard look distinctly uncomfortable, as he shifted on the chair, his long pale fingers tightening around the dark ebony cane.

After some rather childish name calling, which included, foul, loathsome, evil and cockroach, I threatened him with my wand.

This time the gasps came from students, as they eagerly awaited what came next. Even Lucius Malfoy had seemingly overcome his discomfiture and was keen to hear what did indeed happen next.

“My friends were horrified, assuring me Draco Malfoy really wasn’t worth it, I grudgingly agreed, knowing the trouble I would get myself in, pulling your wand on a fellow pupil, as you all know is bad enough. Seeing him snivel in fear was quite sufficient.”

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Lucius Malfoy’s blonde head shake, the movement was almost imperceptible, but she seemed oddly quite attuned to him. Hermione expected to see disappointment on his face, but instead it was a combination of resignation and understanding, not to mention the merest hint of amusement.

“So I put my wand away, but as I started to walk away, Draco began to laugh, I was so mad... I…turned and punched him on the nose.”

Amid the laughter that ensued, a watery eyed first year by the name of Jason Thompson anxiously asked after the Hippogriff.

“What happened to Buckbeak?” He asked his big blue eyes bright with tears.

Hermione gave him a reassuring smile and a conspiratorial wink.

“I am not entirely sure.” She said very convincingly.

“All I know is that some time during the Minister of Magic’s visit with Hagrid, Buckbeak escaped, thus avoiding a grisly fate.”

Jason Thompson looked decidedly relieved, along with the other students, a big toothy smile replacing his sad watery eyes. She could have sworn even by only twinkling Christmas lights, candles and a roaring fire, Lucius Malfoy looked just the tiniest bit sceptical, and had a question or two of his own.

Deciding it was now definitely late and time for the evening to draw to an end, Hermione promised them all a Christmas treat of a hot chocolate to take to bed and ushered everyone off in the direction of their respective sleeping quarters Scorpius and his grandfather included.

 

Back in the kitchen, the house elves were a little surprised at being dispatched at such a late hour with steaming mugs of chocolate but being house elves they still did as they were asked. All that was except for the those to be taken to the Slytherin dormitory, they had heard of Lucius Malfoy’s presence in the school and subsequently Slytherin house and no amount of persuading or sweet talking, even by Hermione was going to get them to go there.  That of course left only one option.

Hermione shook her head, muttering a little under her breath as she gave the Slytherin password and was granted access to the dungeon area common room, two mugs chocolate floated in front of her, leading the way. 

A rather sleepy looking Scorpius was seated next to his grandfather on one of the large green leather sofa’s. He smiled at Hermione as the steaming drink planted itself on the low oak table before him.

“You remembered.” He said, his voice sounding just as tired as his eyes looked.

“But of course.” She said returning his smile.

She noticed Lucius Malfoy’s line of vision had drifted to the bedtime drink, the pile of marshmallows floating on the top sprinkled with a dusting of more chocolate. Of course, he’d overheard their conversation in the kitchen earlier in the day.

Scorpius took an even sleepier mouthful, a happy grin on his young face, as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The older Malfoy picked up his own mug and raised it to Hermione. She imagined him with a milky marshmallow moustache, trying to avoid the steely gaze of his which was fixed on her.

“Thank you, Professor.”

He said simply, adding nothing more, his eyes speaking for him, Hermione knew his gratitude was not really for the chocolate.  Warmth spreading through her as she continued to remain his sole focus.

“It was a pleasure Mister Malfoy.” She offered quite honestly if a little breathlessly.

“Happy Christmas.” She said before taking her leave, as unflustered as she could manage.

“Merry Christmas to you too Hermione Granger.”

His voice was quiet, and Hermione was out of earshot as he spoke, her slender figure retreating through the heavy oak door and back up the stone staircase. Lucius Malfoy watched her every step of the way until she vanished from his line of sight. What a beautiful and intriguing woman she had become.


	5. Goodwill To All Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So now with the penultimate chapter the focus switches, and we head towards the explicit rating...I hope you continue to enjoy it as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more thank yous for your lovely comments. Pleased you are all enjoying this so much.
> 
> As always apologies in advance for any errors grammatical or otherwise...

 

As well as the personal old fashioned stockings, another tradition in the Granger household at Christmas was the giving of certain gifts. Everyone got new slippers from another member of the family. Hermione's mother always received a new musical album, her father a book by a favourite author and Hermione always got a new dressing gown and either pyjamas or a nightie from her parents and a book of some sort.

The first Christmas after she'd modified her parents' memories. Harry had brought her a pair of slippers, under the Weasley's Christmas tree she had found a lovely dressing gown from Minerva McGonagall and a rather brightly coloured pair of pyjamas from Molly and Arthur. This had then become the new tradition, continuing every year since, and as the great clock struck midnight, this year was of course no exception, despite the change in circumstances with the Weasley's.

Hermione had never been sure if her friends took it in turns to buy the gifts each year, or if they colour coordinated by owl, but save that very first Christmas, everything always matched perfectly, and she was never disappointed with their choices, and as always, this year was no different. They alternated their gifts too, which leant Hermione to think that it was most likely one of the women who chose them. One year the items would be for the warmer weather, lightweight and summery, and the next they would be for the wintery months, much more fleecy and cosy.

This year her friends had utterly surpassed themselves with their choices of gifts. Hermione felt like a little girl again as she opened the beautifully wrapped presents and read the affectionate tags attached to them. The palest silver grey was this year's selection of colour, with splashes of pink, and they had for the first time brought things for varying seasons, but the child in Hermione was so thrilled with them she wanted to wear everything now.

The silky pyjamas from Molly and Arthur Weasley were luxurious but cold to the touch, with flick of her wand Hermione draped them over the back of a chair allowing the heat from the fire to warm them before she put them on and went to bed. Slipping instead into the exquisitely tailored, faux fur lined dressing gown from the headmistress. Hermione wasn't sure she had ever felt so dressed up in nightwear before or quite so ridiculously sexy as the soft rich lining caressed her skin, not even on her wedding night. She glanced in the cheval mirror which stood in one corner of her bedroom.

"Wow!" She exclaimed looking at her own reflection with some surprise.

The gown was what one might call classic Minerva McGonagall, the essence of her style and taste, but it suited the young witch perfectly. In the same delicate shade of silver grey as the pyjamas, the tiny buttons were mother of pearl but with the merest hint of pink, which matched that glorious fur lining, a lining that extended into the long snood like hood. Hermione put it up, she couldn't help but smile, it was just so Minerva, except for the colours, which were so her. The hood sat on her head, part of it slipped down her back, the rest covering her wild mane off hair beautifully, its breadth resting elegantly on her shoulders and when lowered it turned into a lovely cowl neck, the pink fur looking stunning against the pale grey. The sleeves like the upper body fitted snuggly, but only to just above the wrist, where they fanned out medieval style, that extremely silky pink fur trimming the edge. Those tiny little buttons started just above her breasts, travelling to a fraction below the knee where the gown was split, eventually stopping mere millimetres from the ground. The skirt was quite full, and with the hood up, Hermione could have given any of the Hogwarts ghosts a run for their money. Slipping her hands into the pink trimmed pockets, she laughed aloud, one pocket was exactly wand sized, and of course Hermione tried it for size, as if it was going to be anything other than a perfect fit. Still smiling to herself and a little overwhelmed with her generous gifts, Hermione turned to drink her chocolate.

"Bugger!" She exclaimed, realising she had left it in the kitchen.

"Oh well." She muttered to herself. "It won't hurt to check, I put everything back to normal in the great hall."

Patting the pocket that contained her wand, she all but glided from her room in the deserted Gryffindor tower and made her way back downstairs.

She hadn't exactly put everything back to normal, deciding that Christmas lunch would be much nicer, if they enjoyed it as they had their Christmas Eve supper, together in a small group. But she had extinguished the candles and dimmed the festive lights and even reduced the great roaring fire to just a small glow, as she walked by, in the dimness she noticed a stocking still hanging from the mantle.

"That's weird." She said to no one, even the ghosts and pictures had long since gone to sleep, it was now well after midnight.

The small stocking, just like those she had placed there earlier, was black, the crest on it was Gryffindor and the small name tag written in an unfamiliar hand read, Hermione Granger.

Oh how sweet she instantly thought, the small group of remaining students must have swapped one of their own stockings and put one up for her. Smiling she took a step closer and removed it from the peg, resisting another overwhelming childlike urge to look inside immediately, Hermione decided to enjoy the little surprise in her favourite spot in the kitchen with her misplaced bedtime chocolate.

The milky drink had long since chilled in the cool stone kitchen, and the marshmallows become more than a little soggy, with a quick spell she heated and refreshed it, settling herself back in the rickety old chair she had occupied earlier in the afternoon. The large circular window was now well frosted, with the freezing temperatures outside. The grounds were completely covered in thick white snow, which still fell in small flurries, the odd large flake hitting the glass. It looked so silent, so beautiful and so very cold, with another swish of her wand and an incendio the fire in the kitchen hearth roared back into life, bathing the room and the young witch in a soft warm glow. Hermione snuggled into her robe, loving the feel of the velvety soft fur against her skin, which again sent that ridiculously sexy feeling through her entire body.

She spooned off a few marshmallows before taking a sip of her drink, avoiding the obligatory milky moustache, then placed it on the window ledge so she could open her stocking.

Everything was exactly as it had been for the youngsters, Hermione smiled at their thoughtfulness. There was a small handful of nuts, the same shiny tangerine, and some pink coconut ice, but instead of a silver sickle, towards the foot of Hermione's stocking was a gold galleon, she took it out and held it up, glistening in the firelight.

Rather extravagant for her students she thought, absently placing it next to her mug and the other items on the cold window ledge. Hermione again dipped her hand into the sock, she had felt something right at the very bottom, almost in the toe, when she had retrieved the galleon. Pulling it out she realised It was a miniature book, no more than two, possibly three inches square but quite thick, it was like a little cube. The small book was expensively bound with soft black leather, the illustration on the cover in gold leaf, when she opened it, inside in tiny handwriting was the inscription, "please don't hurt my creatures". It was initialled NS. Hermione's gasp reverberated around the silent kitchen.

An authentic miniature, signed by the author no less, bound in leather and gold, this was certainly not a gift from any student. In fact Hermione didn't know of anyone who would give her such an expensive and rare gift, let alone in a cheap stocking.

She thumbed gently, almost reverently through the small book, page upon page of minute, exquisite drawings and brief descriptions of the creatures. Hermione's heart sang with unadulterated joy as she turned each incredibly detailed page, she'd always loved books, especially those she had received at Christmas, but this was quite possibly the most stunning  _piece of literature_ she had ever seen, let alone been given as a gift, but by whom?

"Do you like it?" A menacingly quiet voice asked from across the room.

Hermione nearly jumped, but something stopped her, it was as if somewhere in her subconscious she had been expecting someone, turning her head towards the sound of the voice, she rose slowly from the shaky chair.

Lucius Malfoy stood just inside the room, his frame and mere being filling the doorway. As if the gift and his actual presence were not enough, his appearance threw Hermione completely. The man himself however seemed totally unfazed by the fact that he was standing in the school kitchen in nothing but what was obviously Scorpius' Slytherin bathrobe. Admittedly she was attired in a similar fashion, but her robe could have been tailor made, indeed it probably was, and it covered more of her than many of her everyday clothes did, the same however could not be said for the Dark Wizard.

Lucius Malfoy was taller, much broader and decidedly more muscular than his slender, you might even say slight, grandson, his powerful body stretching the garment almost to its limits.

Hermione was aware he'd asked her a question, but just for a moment her brain struggled to think what he was asking it about, or even remember what the question actually was.

"It's quite beautiful."

She finally replied, for once desperately endeavouring to maintain eye contact with the man and trying with equal desperation to keep her voice from coming out as an absurd squeak. Her attempt to control it however, gave it a husky, sultry quality, which from the look on his pale face, did not go unnoticed.

"As indeed are you." The Dark Wizard strove to keep himself from saying the words aloud.

A thought which would have once been so abhorrent to him, now stirred his mind and his body in ways he had not thought about in a  _very long time_. But he could not deny it, even the pureblood supremacist of old would have had a hard time disputing such a simple fact. Hermione Granger, the little Mudblood his son had tormented mercilessly, his deranged sister in law had tortured brutally, and even he himself had belittled and scorned, looked incredibly beautiful, almost ethereal, in the firelight as it glistened in her hair and against the pearlescent grey of her robe…

It suddenly occurred to him, that vision as she was, he had not expected to encounter anyone on his late night, make that early morning, foray to the Hogwarts kitchen. Thus instead of dressing, he had for quickness, slipped on his grandson's rather ill-fitting robe, of course he could easily have modified it to fit, but at this hour and not thinking anyone would be about, he really couldn't be bothered. Despite his state of dress, undress even, Lucius Malfoy maintained his proud stance. His only saving grace… ill-fitting as the robe was, it was not as unforgiving as his well-tailored trousers would most certainly have been, they would have left little to the imagination in terms of how his abnormally unruly body was reacting to the young woman. At this point however, his concern was more with the belt he had tied with equal hast, hoping that still held fast. Looking to check and modifying his clothing now, would have perhaps been more of a giveaway of his current predicament, drawing even more attention to himself. He sustained his bearing as if he were in full dress robes.

Hermione remembered the tiny book clasped in her hand, bringing her focus firmly back to it. She really should have guessed the stocking had been placed there by Lucius Malfoy, if for no other reason than the pink coconut ice. It was his grandson's favourite, he always had a supply of the brightly coloured, exceedingly sweet confectionary, in fact Scorpius took quite a bit of ribbing about his sweet tooth and his love of this particular item.

"But it is far too rare and valuable for me to accept Mister Malfoy." She continued quietly, but firmly.

Inexplicably Hermione did not want to appear rude or offend him in any way, his thoughtful gesture had done nothing to warrant that. However, she did feel the need to return it to him, but she couldn't bring herself to move any closer, into his personal space, she didn't dare, she was already too intensely aware of him, to do so would be like crossing some imaginary line.

The sensuously soft lining of her robe did not help, as the silky fur continued to brush and tease her skin, skin which seemed more sensitive than ever or perhaps she was simply more conscious of it, of something, of someone… She kept her eyes resolutely fixed on Lucius Malfoy's chiselled face, trying for all she worth to stop her eyes from dropping back to the alabaster skin which she'd noticed emerging from the top of the dark green robe, or allowing them to linger on the smattering of dark blonde hair which peeped from beneath the taut towelling. Her face flushed deeply, such vivid details from the briefest of glimpses. For Merlin's sake this  _was_ Lucius Malfoy, she reminded herself harshly, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours either, what on earth was she thinking?

If she didn't know any better, Hermione would think she had been well and truly bewitched, her thinking was obviously clouded, her judgement impaired. Hermione knew of old that Lucius Malfoy was more than capable of casting The Imperious Curse, but unless it came in a bottle called Imperio and smelt of sandalwood, vanilla and spice, the young witch knew only too well, it had absolutely nothing to do with actual dark magic. It also occurred to her that, she probably had the exceptional strength required to resist that particular one of the three unforgivable cures, she wasn't entirely certain she had the same strength when it came to resisting much else right now.

"Hmm."

Not even an actual word, just a thoughtful, trifle disgruntled sound, but Hermione could hear that clipped aristocratic timbre, her mouth twitched ever so slightly and went a little dry. He might not be carrying his fearsome serpent headed cane, might not be dressed commandingly from head to toe in impeccably tailored black robes, and be a good many years older than at their very first encounter. But Draco's father, even wandless and partially clad in a poorly fitting bath robe, still had the presence and the power to send a rush of fear racing through her veins and it would appear hefty dose of adrenalin.

"You told me earlier Professor, you do not give gifts in order to receive them. I would imagine by the same token that you do not give them to expect gifts of the same value in return."

Hermione could not argue with his logic, and had the shoe been on the other foot, she would have been the first to express similar sentiments. She nodded in agreement, her eyes shifting from the Dark Wizard to the small book in her now open hand, and back again.

"However, saying that." He continued softly.

"Occamy Egg Yolk shampoo, hand signed, even in a tiny bottle? I think we are perhaps unknowingly quite equal in our exchange of gifts."

Hermione once more found herself on the losing end of the argument, unable to refute his observation.

It was Christmas morning, she wasn't even going to bother getting into a war of words, one she had a feeling she would not win anyway. Instead she took a different tack with the Dark Wizard, or at least was about to…

" **Why** did you put a stocking up for me?" He asked her for her for a second time, silently and deftly reducing some of the space between them.

Hermione noticed the emphasis on the  _why_ , but got the impression there was actually a  _really_ , missing from his question, he was obviously looking for either a different answer or a more detailed one.

With his movement, she was suddenly drawn to the fact that his feet were quite bare. The thought of them on the cold stone floor sending an involuntary shiver through her body, at least that was what she put it down to, his proximity more than a little unnerving. Again Lucius Malfoy had asked her a question, and yet again Hermione was distracted by the pale skin which protruded from the dark, poorly fitting robe. This time in her effort to avoid eye contact, her gaze fell upon a set of oven mittens sitting on the table. She slowly withdrew her wand from the deep pocket in her own gown, noticing in her peripheral vision, he shifted just a little nervously, that such a wizard was wary of her, made Hermione smile. She raised her wand with equal slowness and deliberation, pointed it at the mittens and transfigured them into a pair of slippers, which she carefully handed to Lucius Malfoy.

It was a thoughtful, innocent enough gesture, but it did of course highlight the fact that she was well aware of his state of undress, the bareness of his long legs, his feet, and quite possibly a lot more besides. A surge of burning heat spread through Hermione, the warmth rapidly colouring her neck and flushing her cheeks once more. Her eyes instinctively followed the sound as he dropped his newly acquired footwear onto the stone floor and slipped his slim pale feet into them. She watched almost mesmerised at the simple mundane action, struggling to raise them back up again as he waited patiently for an answer to his question.

"Because it would have been rude not to." She reiterated her words from earlier, it really had been her only thought behind it, hadn't it?

Her voice came out in that breathy, husky tone once again, it sounded almost seductive, as she responded, her gaze finally reaching his face.

"It is Christmas after all Mister Malfoy, Goodwill to all men, and after all these years, that includes you."

He was once again touched by her sentiments, but the former Death Eater, didn't miss her tone a second time either and he wondered just how much  _goodwill_ Hermione Granger was prepared to show him. He banished the notion quickly from his mind, but his body was not to be dismissed quite so quickly or so easily and he shifted awkwardly against the tight robe.

He nodded his blonde head, reducing the space between them even more: "It really was very thoughtful of you Professor."

His own voice seemed to have changed in timbre too, even to his ears, it was softer and had a slightly more rasping edge. If he'd noticed the inflection in her voice then she had definitely noticed it in his, he saw it flicker in the depths of her brown eyes.

Many things had changed about Lucius Malfoy over the last twenty or so years, mostly for the better at least he liked to think they had, although he knew that there were many who would not agree or believe it. A couple of things hadn't though, he still lacked patience and restraint, both of which he needed in spades right now. He should return to Scorpius, although his grandson had long since fallen asleep, and despite it being Christmas morning would probably remain that way for some considerable hours.

With his movement, everything Hermione had been trying so desperately to avoid assailed her senses with alarming speed and overwhelming ferocity.

That intoxicating aromatic scent of his, the smell invading her nostrils, Hermione found herself inhaling deeply and savouring it. The simple sight of him, so much closer now, exuding natural masculinity from every pour. His touch…

She felt his large warm hand cup her own, enveloping it as his fingers closed over hers and around the tiny book which sat in her upturned palm. The sound of his voice, much lower, and more gentle, so much less clipped it was almost hypnotic as he spoke.

"Please keep it, I know how much you love books."

Her eyes slowly drifted back to his face, silvery grey blue colliding with warm brown once more. Hermione couldn't reply to his thoughtful words, her senses were overloaded and her mind racing, she tried to stop it. Knowing exactly where it was headed, there was just one thing missing from her sensory quintet…taste.

The young witch used every bit of willpower she possessed to hold Lucius Malfoy's gaze, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, her lips suddenly feeling dry, unthinkingly she poked her tongue out, running it across the parched skin and moistening them. The small, almost erotic gesture causing her to lose the concentration she had fought so hard to maintain. Her line of sight dropping from his piercing eyes, almost instantly to his mouth.

His lips were parted ever so slightly as if he were about to speak again, she noticed them twitch, an infinitesimal movement which held her intently. The thin, slightly parted line curved at the corners, into the tiniest of smiles. She didn't need to see the rest of his face, in her head she could picture that devilish twinkle glistening in his narrowed eyes, could see a slightly raised, curious brow and those flared nostrils. This time Hermione willed herself not to meet his gaze, but even harder was the resolve not to reach out and run her finger along what now seemed like an incredibly soft and sensual mouth.

Her focus remained on his lips, watching with the same burning intensity as they came ever closer, slightly  _more_ parted. This time the intent came from Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione was powerless to resist. Not that she even wanted to.


	6. This Was Lucius Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what can I saw, you have been so lovely about my belated Christmas story, thank you all so much for your lovely words. I did enjoy writing about my favourite couple. And a new story is work in progress. This is the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy it as much. It comes with a BIG explicit rating, so you have been warned... Apologies as ever for faux pas...sits back and lights blue (or it that pale grey touch paper )

This was one-time Hermione Granger didn’t need to remind herself that this was Lucius Malfoy.

There were **so** many reasons why she shouldn’t want to kiss or be kissed by the Former Death Eater. There were another dozen why she simply shouldn’t. But right now, there were equally as many reasons why she did want to be kissed by Lucius Malfoy and why she absolutely should.

 

His lips were incredibly soft, brushing hers tentatively, almost reverently, for some reason, not what she had expected at all, not of course that she’d spent any time wondering how it would feel to be kissed by him. She didn’t resist in any way but responded with the same initial apprehension. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving over hers gently and coaxingly, sweetly and seductively increasing the pressure. Hermione had also anticipated that once he got a modicum of encouragement, he would take full advantage of the situation, of her, he didn’t.

Lucius Malfoy believed he was a little old and past reading signs but watching Hermione Granger’s eyes widen and drop to his mouth, he felt this was one signal he could not misread and was on pretty solid ground. As their lips connected however, he couldn’t supress the trepidation which swept through his already aroused body. Waiting for her to suddenly realise what she was doing or more to the point, who she was doing it with and recoil in disgust.  Expecting the inevitable thwack as her free hand connected with his flushed cheek, or she reached into her pocket for her wand and cast some heinous spell upon him. Her sweet mouth softened and moved beneath his, showing no sign of any of these reactions. He felt her lips open under his increasing pressure, and he seized the moment, his tongue slowly tracing their parted seam and gently pushing them further apart, seeking access to the moist cavern beyond. His body impatiently craving a similar solace, Lucius strove for a measure of that seriously lacking patience and restraint once more.

Hermione felt as if he was kissing her with his entire being, not just his gentle probing mouth, she was engulfed in the very essence of him. Her eyes had fluttered shut with their first very touch, it had heightened all of her other senses, every one of them now being gloriously assaulted. His slightly hurried breathing and the barest of moans caressed her ears, whilst his scent, touch and taste all vied for a piece of her. They did not need to fight, as his tongue moved sensually against her lips, she gave herself willing over. 

A tiny fragment of Hermione’s brain which was not steeped in unadulterated pleasure or had succumbed in some way to the sheer magnetism of the Dark Wizard, could not actually believe what was happening or perhaps more importantly, that she was allowing it to, reminding her over and over that this was indeed Lucius Malfoy. She simply didn’t care, all she cared about was how good it felt, how good he felt. Now that reminder, that this was indeed Lucius Malfoy, had a very different effect, and provoked a very different response in her. Hermione felt the tiny book fall deep into her pocket, leaving her hands free. Of her own volition Hermione took a step closer into him, her body pressing against his, her arms twining around his neck, her fingers relishing the smooth mellifluence of his long blonde hair.

The feel of her responsive mouth beneath his, had already aroused him more than he had been in an incredibly long time, her pliant body, almost flush against his, her fingers trailing in his hair, made Lucius Malfoy’s body positively ache with desire, he groaned against her mouth. Until this moment only his lips had touched her, but as his patience and restraint became all but non-existent, his hands drifted to her slender body, ghosting from her hips, to her waist, over her ribcage, coming to rest just below her breasts.

Decorum and a small amount of apprehension which still drifted through her body prevented Hermione from telling him not to stop. Instead she allowed her body to speak for her, pressing herself harder against him, so their bodies were completely flush, and the young witch could now feel the full and potent strength of his need for her.

Should she have been afraid? That tiny fragment of her brain wondered. The answer came quickly in the fresh wave of heat which burned low in her belly, causing her to rub herself against that very obvious need. She heard and felt him moan against her mouth, his tongue indolently moving against her own, his long fingers bit into her ribs, his thumbs drifting upwards, brushing against her already hard, sensitive nipples. Hermione groaned back against his mouth, her tongue all but duelling with his spurring him on as she leaned further and harder into him.

The roughness of the towelling robe he wore had been replaced by a lustrous silkiness, glorious as it felt, Lucius knew the hastily tied belt on Scorpius’ robe was in fact no longer tied. His aching rigid flesh was brushing against the silken material of Hermione’s robe, the notion and the feel, not to mention how her slender body was rubbing against him, and her own pleasured moans, tore at the last remnants of patience and restraint he possessed.

If Hermione did not need any reminders that this was Lucius Malfoy, she did need to remind herself that she was at school, that she was acting Headmistress and that there were students upstairs, one of whom was the grandson of the man she had semi naked in the kitchen of said school.

Once more he seemed to read her thoughts, taking a small step back he raised his hand and in a very husky rather breathless voice, muttered a few incantations, warding and locking the room securely. Her wide eyes drifted over him, if she had any second thoughts now was the time to voice them. As her eyes continued what could only be described as her appraisal of him, Hermione had plenty of thoughts, first and third, none of them were second, the only sound which escaped her lips was one of pure pleasure.

He glanced at Hermione’s beautiful glowing face, as if he were waiting for her approval, he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest and remembered the unfastened belt on his now gapping robe, a rush of throbbing heat coursed through his exposed body, but he remained unmoved, perhaps still waiting for her approval…

Hermione had already been left almost panting by the somewhat unexpected passion of his kisses, his deft touch, and not to mention the feel of the body which had abraded against her own. The partial sight of his hard, fully erect flesh robbed her of whatever breath she had left. Doing the math quickly in her head again, she knew the man had to be in his sixties, a figure which was actually totally irrelevant, but if facially she hadn’t thought he looked his age, Merlin’s teeth, physically he was in quite frankly in magnificent shape. He had the physique of a man ten, even fifteen years younger, and he proudly displayed it. Hermione had willed herself not to reach out and touch his sensual mouth, her resolve however did not stretch as far as his gorgeous well-toned and unashamedly aroused body.

Her slightly shaking fingers reached out, touching his pale chest, tracing them through the smattering of dark blonde hair she had seen earlier, slowly moving to the centre and over his breastbone. Hermione could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath her fingertips, the rate increasing as they moved ever lower. His skin quivered as her enquiring path took her over the toned flat planes of his stomach, where her confidence failed. A blush of a very different kind stung her already rosy cheeks and Hermione swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled against his flesh, Merlin’s teeth, she was an adult a grown woman, a divorced one at that, but she felt suddenly like a gauche, naive teenager and very foolish.  Whatever magical capabilities she possessed, given their past history or more to the point his past history, it was hardly surprising that she was still a little frightened of him, but that was the point she wasn’t afraid of the wizard, but of the man…

Her eyes gradually rose to meet his, fully expecting a derisive sneer on his lips or ridicule in his face. His sparkling eyes never left her for a moment, the pupils were wide and darkened by desire against the pale grey irises, but behind the blatant lust, there was understanding in them.  The smile which curved the Dark Wizard’s sensual mouth was salacious to say the least but that was hardly unexpected, given the situation. The carnality which virtually glowed on his face in the soft light, both excited and terrified Hermione, her teasing fingers drifting sensually across his warm flesh, but it was if she were contemplating slipping them into a mandrakes mouth. Another little groan drifted to her ears, simultaneously fuelling both her desire and her fear.

There was no practically about it, his body positively ached with need, Lucius simply couldn’t bear the thought that she was not going to touch him, even the tiny glimmer of fear her saw flicker in her eyes could not dissuade him.

A bracelet of steely fingers curled quickly and tightly around her wrist, Hermione’s arm automatically stiffened in resistance, the vice like grip immediately slackened and she relaxed once more against his grasp.

Lucius knew how inappropriate this was on just about every level, but he simple couldn’t help himself.

“Touch me.” He said

His tone was quietly demanding, but at the same time imploring, velvety smooth with a hint of darkness underneath. 

The fingers which had moments before grasped her arm so tightly, moved to her face, holding it between his large hands he bent his head a kissed her. Hermione was lost in a cloud of silky pale gold hair and that spicy aromatic sent, those incredibly soft lips once more seducing and encouraging her, without hesitation her hand drifted to his arousal. Her slim fingers tentatively brushed his smooth hard flesh, she was unable to repress the little shiver or apprehension that raced through her, or the soft moan which fell from her lips against his, as he pressed almost relived into her touch.

It was a half hiss, half groan which flowed from Lucius Malfoy’s lips, moving back ever so slightly allowing her to caress his body. His mind was racing with all the things he wanted to do to her, how he wanted to touch her, taste her, fill her, but it seemed only his mind was racing, the rest of him no longer having the ability to move. Everything was centred on the rhythmic and now, less than tentative movement of her hand, which felt so good around him.

He had asked her, almost commanded that she touch him, as his hot flesh throbbed and surged against her palm Hermione wanted to do the same, but whilst she now found no problem in touching him with such intimacy, courage failed her when it came to words.  Again she allowed her body to wantonly speak for her. Her eyes finally met his as her fingers left his throbbing flesh and wound their way back into his lustrous blonde hair, she brought her slender body back flush against him, rubbing herself seductively against his bare flesh.

Lucius groaned with pleasure, much louder this time. His restraint and willpower were being tested about as far as was possible. He wanted Hermione Granger more than he had wanted anything or anyone in a very very long time.  Erotic as the thought of the kitchen table was, hard as the idea of having her against the wall made him, Lucius Malfoy was not an adolescent, as his body so rigidly displayed, he was more than up to the _task_ , but his adult brain and sensibilities were telling him no, just no. Ideally, he wanted her sprawled out, naked on his large bed back at Malfoy Manor, with hours ahead of him, but apparation within Hogwarts was not allowed. Right now he would just settle for her naked, enjoy the feeling her bare flesh against his own.

With a brief incantation, the silken robe she was wearing pooled about their feet, and he felt a surprised intake of breath, her beautiful soft skin finally caressing him, teasing him. Palest pink fur looked up at him from the stone floor, Lucius stretched his feet in the transfigured slippers he still wore and smiled, another brief spell, enlarged and thickened the robe, spreading it before the roaring fire like a hug rug.

The soft fur lining felt even more sensual against her skin as Lucius Malfoy lowered Hermione Granger down onto it, and himself gently on to her. Hermione shifted against him, accommodating his weight, and instinctively wrapping her legs around him.

“Mmm”

Was all he was capable of uttering as her body moved against him, bringing his potent arousal firmly against her damp feminine heat.

There was a clash of dark brown and silver grey as their eyes met once more, for a moment they simply looked at each other, their bodies almost as close as it was possible to be, the two of them focused only on each other. An unasked question hung in the air, but one it was really far too late to voice, their needy bodies silently conveying the answer. 

That this was Lucius Malfoy, how this had come to be, Hermione really didn’t know, right now she didn’t even care. What she was even more certain of now was how good it felt, how good he felt, and that she wanted it to feel even better, because she knew it would.

He moved slowly against her, his mercilessly hard body rubbing against her moist curls, Hermione moaned, her back arching from the floor to meet him. A smile laced with intent curved his mouth, in the firelight she saw an almost devilish twinkle glistening in his grey eyes. His hand travelled that same path, drifting as it had done before, unhurriedly up her body, his fingers ghosting back over her thigh, her hip, her side, his thumb pausing only momentarily to tease her breast. That devilish glint reflected a little of the man of old, but it was excitement, not fear which coursed through the young witches’ veins. His voice was low and unreasonably sexy, but the tone was that familiar clipped aristocratic sound, threatening as ever, deliciously so …

“There is so much I want to do to you Miss Granger.” His tongue traced her lips suggestively.

Hermione shivered at his words and the tormenting action, a tiny part of her brain laughed that he addressed in such a way, considering their current positions. Her body was alive with sensation, seeking more pleasure she stirred against him, almost screaming for him to do something. His hand travelled back down her body, following that now very familiar path and then in one fluid movement he thrust skilfully into her. The breath raced from Hermione’s body, coming out in a strangled, joyous cry, her body tightened at the sudden invasion, his size filled and stretched her as never before, her juices flooded about him at the sheer ecstasy he inflicted.  Her long legs shifted upwards snaking around his hips, giving him deeper access, her nails bit into the firm flesh of a surprisingly taut arse. Somewhere her brain registered that he’d discarded the ill-fitting bath robe and was as naked as she, in her minds eye she saw that sculptured alabaster skin, felt it covering her, pleasuring her. Hermione’s fingers bit harder into the flesh beneath them, scraping his lower back, gliding over his ribs and as he pushed deeper inside her, almost tearing at the skin of his broad shoulders. Whether it was from pain of pure pleasure, she didn’t know but the sound of his moans filled her ears. She buried her face in that same smooth exotically scented skin, the bitter taste of it filling her mouth as her tongue traced its way across his collar bone, licking and nipping, kissing and sucking.

The sensation in his lower body was overwhelming, she was so wet for him, she was tight, a tightness which drew him in deeper and faster, but it did not detract from the feelings in his upper body, her teeth and mouth adding to his already intense pleasure. For a moment he thought he must be dreaming, one of those graphic, erotic dreams he’d had from time to time, waking up to a hard, aching body that he needed to _take in hand._ The nails which tore at his back, the tongue which lapped at his neck, the slender legs wrapped across his backside and the hot silky moisture which caressed his throbbing flesh were all thankfully, blissfully real, this would not end by his own hand.

He was so deep inside her one moment stroking her inner walls, only to withdraw, allowing his heavy unyielding flesh to rub against her, pushing her closer to the edge. He lunged forcefully back into her wet body, his pelvic bone grinding hard against hers.

“Aargh, hmmm…Lu…oh…”

A jumble of incomplete disjointed sounds rather than words tumbled from her lips, she felt her own body tighten around him, heat and pleasure surging all at once. She could feel his body so deep inside her, throbbing and swelling, the sensation drove her crazy, it felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her legs constricted around him even more, her fingers were stiff as her nails sank into the flickering muscles on his back, she could feel his irregular breathing against her breasts, the rise and fall of his chest caressing her pebbled nipples. His strokes became more forceful his breathing more shallow, still his body seemed to surge and grow inside her, Hermione was panting at her own exertions with her own pleasure, rising to meet him thrust for thrust.  His pace was faster now, more erratic, his hair fell across her face, engulfing her completely in him. Hermione found herself writhing and moaning beneath him, almost uncontrollably, she squeezed her inner muscles tighter around him a guttural cry tore itself from his throat, and finally everything exploded around her, inside her dissolving in wave upon wave of blissful blinding ecstasy. He carried her along on a seemingly never-ending tide of pleasure that streamed through both of their climaxing bodies, as he came, she could feel his unremitting release flowing into her, the erotic sensation keeping her own body peaking and tingling until finally they were both breathless and sated, and she felt his spent weight collapse against her.

Hermione’s hands instinctively drifted to his hair, smoothing the damp, uncharacteristically ruffled mane.

His breathing still laboured Lucius Malfoy propped himself up, leaning over her. His dilated grey eyes peered into her face, narrowing. For a few moments he continued to simply look at her, before as his breathing gradually returned to normal, he spoke.

“Before, Miss Granger you asked me where I would like to sleep.”

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. Her own breathing only just returning to normal, she nodded.

“If you asked me the same question now, I would say right here with you.”

Hermione was to say the least startled by this frank confession; spur of the moment sex was one thing, sleeping with someone a thestral of a very different colour. The thought of sleeping with, and more to the point waking up with Lucius Malfoy, sent tingling heat coursing through her body once more.

She tried to hide this, allowing a small smile to curve her lips and attempting a little light humour.

“I don’t imagine the house elves would take too kindly to finding the acting Headmistress and a school governor, naked on the kitchen floor.”

She saw his mouth twitch, that overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his lips once more assailed her.

“Very true Professor.” His grey eyes sparkled with his address and with an intent she had become quite familiar with.

“Next time…”

His formidable aristocratic tone brooked no argument, not that Hermione was about to offer any, it was a statement not a question.

That this was Lucius Malfoy, sent another shiver of excitement and dare she admit anticipation racing shamelessly through her.

 

 

 


End file.
